Mirage
by Infinitesimi
Summary: This is a post ep51 fic, so BEWARE SPOILERS! Written before much was known about the movie, so its basically AU now. Summary: Unable to truly move forward alone, the brothers do everything in their power to find eachother again. [Incomplete]
1. Prologue

**Mirage **

**Chapter One – Prologue**

_Rizembool 1917_

Her vision was beginning to blur from lack of sleep, but Winry pushed on to finish the ultra-superior mechanical arm, checking and re-checking that each screw was properly connected and that the complicated wiring was completely sound. She did not yet notice that she could hear the birds outside in their pre-dawn chirping, in fact, she did not notice anything at all until she was satisfied that the arm was complete. When she did look up, she sighed, realizing that she had again pulled an all nighter, but she smiled faintly when she admired her handiwork. Within a few hours, she knew, the rest of the house would come to life, Roze making breakfast for her little son, Den yapping around her feet, and Pinako contentedly having a morning puff on her pipe out on the porch. Winry absently made her way to the porch now, shivering in the dampness of the dawn.

He was never far from her thoughts. He, Edward, was all she thought about when she worked on her automail, no matter who it was for. When she closed her eyes, leaning against the porch railing, she imagined him leaning there next to her, normal as can be, and when she stared at him in surprise, her mind heard him say, "what, Winry, you thought I would stay gone forever? C'mon!" How many times had she stood on this porch, at how many times of the day, morning, midnight, afternoon, dusk, wondering when the Elrics would come home?

It had been over a year even since she'd seen Al, given him an affectionate, sisterly kiss on his eleven year old forehead before waving goodbye to him from the train platform. His body may have been eleven, but his smoky eyes were worlds older. They looked like Ed's had looked, she thought, like he'd seen too much, done too much, and it broke her heart to see eyes like that in Alphonse's young face. The time she spent with Al after he regained his body made her feel like she, too, was eleven years old again, carefree, without responsibilities, and without tragedy.

Not without tragedy, she amended. But without this loneliness she felt, that they all felt, now that Ed was gone. She heard the whistle from the station, and knew that the five o clock train had arrived, and that soon the sky would go from this sickly grey to a warm pink. She stood there as the minutes progressed, staring blankly at the horizon, not really thinking, letting her consciousness drift in a way she could only do after a night without sleep.

Winry imagined a lone figure walking up the road towards the house, and imagined it was Ed, finally returning home after two years, with a wild story to tell, wanting to know where Al was and if he really was restored, and apologizing profusely to her for the damage accumulated on his automails. She would run to meet him in the road, he would think she was going to hit him with her wrench, but really she would catch him in a hug he couldn't squirm out of, not letting go despite the protests she knew he would make, not until she was convinced he was real, solid, not a mirage at all.

Squinting her eyes, Winry told herself that there couldn't actually be that lone figure on the road, since when did her imagination become real? But wasn't that a boy in a red coat, with long hair in a ponytail and carrying a suitcase? She rubbed her eyes several times, almost wanting the vision to disappear, but the figure only became clearer. Her heart began to pound, and she took one deep breath and dashed down the steps, her feet pounding on the road as she raced towards the boy, colliding with him chest to chest and wrapping her arms around him. Vaguely she heard the suitcase drop to the ground and two strong arms held her tight for a few moments before he pulled back, grinning at her. "What are you doing awake so early, Winry?" said the unexpected voice.

Slate-colored eyes winked at her. "Al- Alphonse!" she said in surprise.

"Were you expecting someone else?"

_dream_

He was having the nightmare again. As soon as he realized where he was, in his father's study in a house that no longer stood, he knew it was the nightmare again. He was carefully measuring chemicals with his brother, seeing the confidence in Edward's eyes as he bit his lip in concentration while they drew the circle. Alphonse knew, knew the transmutation would end in tragedy, and because this was a dream, he took an extra look at his brother, knowing that this was the last time he would ever see him. "I cant wait to see mom's face again," he heard his own voice say, and then his body was dissolving, being torn to ribbons by the transmutation. Edward's hand reached out desperately to catch him, to stop the decomposition, but suddenly his hand was gone, and Edward was left grasping at the air, unaware that his own leg was beginning to dissolve as well.

"Brother!" he screamed, but he only screamed in the dream, he knew, because he didn't wake the sleeping form next to him.

The sleeping form next to him?

Alphonse sat up, the horror from his nightmare still lingering, and a new panic began to overtake him. This was not his room. This, though it was an ordinary bedroom, was no room he had ever seen. He glanced at the head next to him on the other pillow, at the golden hair spilling everywhere, and understood. He was still dreaming. Gently, hesitantly, as if he was afraid this dream would disappear, he pushed the hair away from the face, over the shoulder, and stared.

Of course, of course Edward had lived several more years after the transmutation, Alphonse knew that , but when he thought of his brother he only saw his eleven year old face. Now he thought back to photographs he had been shown, himself as a suit of armor, and his brother did have long hair, tied in a braid. Edward stirred when Alphonse brushed the back of his hand across his brother's cheek, thinking it was strange that there were real tears in his eyes in this dream.

"Whadya want, Al?" Ed mumbled into the pillow. "Tryin to sleep."

"Sorry," Alphonse whispered. "I just wanted to look."

Edward turned slightly, two golden slits appearing. "Alphonse, it's the middle of the night. Go to sleep," he said tiredly, closing his eyes again.

Al's fingers snagged in his brother's hair. "Brother, your hair is a mess," he admonished softly, not wanting to look away. Edward grunted in response. He picked up a hairbrush on the bedside table, and began to work the tangles out of the fine golden strands. Edward mumbled something unintelligible.

I'm dreaming of what it would be like if we had both survived, Al told himself. That's what this has to be. "If you tied your hair back when you sleep, this wouldn't happen," he admonished, then thought of the photographs. "Why don't you braid it?"

He wasn't expecting a response, he thought that Edward was asleep, but he mumbled, "because I can't, I've tried," and Alphonse's eyes darted to what was left of his brother's right shoulder.

"What happened to your automail?" he asked, with a knot in his throat.

"I told you, automail doesn't exit here," Edward said with a sigh, as if he had said it many times before, and his eyes flickered open for a moment, then he grabbed at the blankets and turned over, closing them tightly.

He half expected another comment about how he was trying to sleep, but Edward said nothing. Alphonse ran his fingers smoothly through his brother's hair. "I can do it for you then," he offered, with dream like simplicity, and Edward did not object as he twisted the sections together.

"My little brother used to braid my hair," he mumbled when Al tied off the end, dropping the thick rope onto his back. Alphonse started to say, "I am your little brother," but he found himself unable to speak through the tears that ran down his face. He laid down in the bed, wrapping his arms around his brother, and cried himself asleep in his dream.

_Rizembool 1917_

He awoke early, like he always did, and closing the front door softly he made his way to the riverside, trying to clear his head from the dream in the early morning fog. Curling his toes into the damp grass and watching the water swirl over the rocks, he went over the dream in his mind again and again. Of course, it was possible that the dream didn't mean anything, but Alphonse refused to believe that. If Edward had brought him back from death, because Alphonse had died, and Alphonse remembered dying, and now he was alive, well then, obviously it was possible. And during all those years he spent trapped in that armor, his body still existed somewhere, even if it didn't exist in this world, because now his soul was once again in the same body he was born with. And if his body had existed somewhere, his hopeful mind reasoned, Edward must exist somewhere as well.

_Munich 1921_

Edward felt someone shaking the bed, and even without opening his eyes he knew the sunlight must be pouring in the windows. "Al," he groaned. "Cut it out, I'll be up in a minute, just leave me alone!"

Alphonse pounced on the bed, snatching away the blankets. "No, you have to get up now, or you are going to be late!"

"Oh come on," he protested. "No one uses the library at eight am!"

"Yes they do," Alphonse argued in a singsong voice, "and you know it! You have five minutes," he said, whisking out of the room.

Edward slowly sat up, rubbing his left hand across his eyes, and yawned. He had been dreaming about Rizembool, he thought. He must have been, to wake up feeling this homesick. Carefully, he attached his prosthetic limbs, dressed quickly, and grabbed his hairbrush off the nightstand on his way out the door, dropping it when he realized his hair was already back.

Edward stopped in front of the mirror, frowning at his reflection. A vein switched in his forehead. It was his face that he saw, and he noticed fleetingly yet again that he was looking more and more like his father, but that wasn't what disturbed him. "Alphonse?" he called dangerously, and heard the movement of feet in the hall

"Hm?" Alphonse said from the doorway. "What are you doing, Ed? It's time to leave already!"

Slowly, Ed turned his piercing gaze on him. "Were you playing with my hair last night?" Ed asked, with such a threatening tone that Alphonse had to laugh at his friend.

"No!" he snorted, still laughing. "Since when do you let anyone play with your hair? Let's go."

Edward scowled, but picked up his coat and followed Alphonse out of the house. "You didn't braid my hair in the middle of the night, when I was sleeping?" he asked again after a few minutes. "Because I think I dreamed that someone did."

Alphonse shook his head. "Well, I didn't. Sorry."

"Well someone did!" Ed nearly shouted, exasperated, picking up the braid as emphasis.

His friend shrugged. "Then it was you," he said simply.

"One handed?" Ed demanded.

Alphonse stopped, opened his mouth, then closed it.

"It must have been you," Ed insisted.

"It wasn't me."

_Rizembool 1917_

Alphonse felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up into Winry's face. She sat down in the grass next to him. "You haven't been up all night again, have you?" he asked, concerned.

"No, I couldn't sleep. I was having strange dreams."

"So was I," Al said, and they were silent for a few minutes.

Winry picked up a stone, trying to skip it across the river, but it fell into the water with a heavy plop. "I thought you were Edward when I saw you yesterday," she said after a while. Noticing Al's morose expression, she tried to lighten her voice. "But I shouldn't have, you're taller than he ever was."

Alphonse turned his heavy eyes on her. "Brother wouldn't like you saying that, Winry."

She looked down. "I know," she whispered.

"Why did he have to die, if he had the Philosopher's Stone?" he cried suddenly. "I thought the stone let you ignore the laws of Equivalent Trade!"

Winry shook her head, and laid a hand on Alphonse's arm. "I don't have any answers for you. I'm sorry." She sighed, watching his expression, fighting with herself over whether or not to speak the next sentence. "It's been two years," she said slowly. "You're really here, we know you aren't going to disappear on us. And- and Edward is really gone, we know he isn't going to come strolling in the door someday." Alphonse looked like he had been slapped, but Winry took a deep breath and continued. "You've been doing really well, adjusting and everything, to not being able to remember-"

"And to everyone being older," he cut in.

"And that," she agreed. "And you've learned so much about alchemy… its like watching you grow up the way you should have, the first time around…"

"Except I should have a brother," Alphonse reminded her.

"You might find," she said carefully, "now that we know you are okay, that certain people might be more willing to share some information with you about certain things."

Al stood up. "You mean there's more?" he cried incredulously. "There's more that you've been keeping from me?" He seemed ready to cry.

Winry threw up her hands. "Not me, Al." She swallowed. "It wasn't just me, I mean."

His wide grey eyes seemed even wider when filled with tears. "Why?" he asked simply.

"Because some of those things," she said, thinking of the homunculus with his mother's face, "Are things we would all rather forget."

She watched sadly as Alphonse ran tearfully back to the house, Ed's red coat flying out behind him.


	2. Without a Soul, Part One

**Mirage**

**Chapter Two – Without a Soul, Part One**

Alphonse, 12; Edward, 21

_Rizembool 1917_

Alphonse wiped the tears off his face in frustration, squinting at the horizon. The sun wasn't even up yet, and he was already crying. He had left Central because the military had frightened him, and run to Izumi in Dublith. He had left Dublith when he argued with Izumi, and run to Rizembool. And then, in his own special place by the river, he had argued with his best friend, and was left with no where else to run.

He flicked open his pocket watch and stared at the picture he kept inside. Pinako had given it to him when he left for Central, and when he made State Alchemist, he put it on the inside cover. There was his father, Hohenheim, who he barely remembered, and his mother, Trisha, who's death he remembered as painfully as if it had been yesterday. Then there was Edward, a little boy with a mop of blond hair, and finally Alphonse himself, a tiny baby, still innocent.

After their mother died, Edward always told everyone that they had no family. But these days Alphonse was of the mind that a family is something you can have even if it isn't there.

Something rustled under the porch, and Alphonse sighed as he made his way up the steps. Some animal, probably.

Some animal with a metal hand that reached out and grabbed his ankle, sprawling him across the stairs flat on his face. "What the-" he started, cheek pressed to the floor of the porch, staring into two round eyes a most unnatural shade of violet. Alphonse scrambled to his feet. "You!" he exclaimed.

"I thought you were the other one," came the whiny voice from under the porch. "The one who killed my mother."

His grey eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here? What do you want?" he demanded.

"I only hate the other one," the creature said again. "Not you. I came to find the mechanic girl, this is her house, isn't it?"

Only because he was able to keep in mind that the boy was in some way Izumi's son, Alphonse crouched down and said gently, "Wrath, if you come out from under the porch, I can help you. If you stay under there, Winry won't even know you're here." He rubbed his elbow where he had banged it on the porch railing.

Wrath crawled out, and the two eyed each other suspiciously. In the two years since they had seen each other, Alphonse's dark blond hair had grown long, and he tied it back now. He was dressed in black, and wore his brother's red coat, and carried a pair of white gloves in the pocket, just like his brother had worn.

Wrath wore a white shirt and dark pants, having abandoned dressing in a way that identified him as homunculus, but he was barefoot, and as he stood there, Alphonse realized why the creature came to Rizembool. A very small giggle escaped his lips. "You grew," he said finally.

Wrath glared.

"I didn't know homunculus could grow," he added, pleasant enough.

Wrath sneered. "_You_ grew," he said smugly.

"I'm not a homunculus," Alphonse protested.

"You're a created human, the product of a human transmutation. You're a homunculus, same as me!" Wrath jeered.

"I'm not a _failed_ transmutation," Alphonse said angrily, knowing he was being unkind. "I have a _soul._"

Wrath folded his arms, one flesh, one metal. "Your brother died, didn't he? That sounds like a failed transmutation to me."

Alphonse lunged at the creature, swinging his fist as he spoke. "He isn't dead!" His fist collided with Wrath's cheek, and the homunculus howled in response.

Wrath swung back with his too short metal arm, and Alphonse ducked, the blow grazing the edge of his ear.

"What is going on?" came a mighty roar from the doorway, and the boys stopped to see a very tiny, very angry old woman in her bathrobe watching them from the front door.

"I'm sorry, Auntie," Al murmured, embarrassed.

"I'm not," Wrath piped up.

"Get up, both of you!" She ordered, eyeing Wrath's metal limbs. "Alphonse, where is Winry? This is her project, not mine!"

Alphonse turned even redder. "I don't know. We got in a fight."

Pinako shook her head. "You're becoming more like Edward every day with that temper," she said, turning to go in the house.

"I'm not like Ed," Al protested.

Wrath rolled his violet eyes. "Sure you aren't."

_Munich 1921_

"Daydreaming again?" said a voice.

Edward blinked, becoming once again aware of his surroundings. He focused on the rows of books in front of him, looked down at the cart of books at his side, and slowly met the eyes of a young woman named Greta, who's expression was of one who was trying to look stern but struggling, since the corners of her mouth kept twitching up towards a smile. "Eh?"

She glanced down at the books on the cart. "This is the same cart from before lunch, Edward."

"I… I wasn't daydreaming," he said truthfully. Actually he hadn't been thinking at all.

"Well, you can go home now, it's long past six o clock, and it's not your turn to stay late tonight. I can put these away."

Ed rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Oh, sorry, I'll do them now, before I leave. Sorry about that."

Greta tipped her head to one side. "What were you thinking about? You had an odd expression."

"Ah, nothing, really," Ed mumbled, picking up a book and sticking it on the shelf. "Sorry, Greta."

"It's all right, really," she insisted.

He shrugged. "Okay."

Greta clasped her hands behind her back, pressed her lips together, looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath, and sighed. Edward became engrossed in re-shelving the books in Munich's University Library. "Ed?" she tried again, after a minute.

"These are all organic chem. books, I'll be done in a few minutes," he said, distracted.

"What are you doing tonight?" she asked quickly, a little too loud.

"Dunno. Research," he said absently, picking up another book.

"There's some live music at the Tavern right outside the University, would you maybe like to go check it out?"

Edward stopped and turned to face her. "Maybe," he said finally. "I'll talk to Al."

Greta's face brightened. "Okay! I hope I'll see you there!" she said with a smile. Ed watched her hair swish across her shoulders as she walked back to the checkout desk.

An hour or so later Ed stood in the doorway of the University's physics lab, smiling fondly, if not distantly, at the sight of Alphonse surrounded by piles of books at papers, furiously scribbling things down and scratching them out, holding his calculations at a distance and squinting at them, then snatching up a different set of papers and continuing to scrawl over them.

"Ed!" he called excitedly, not even looking up, "this is incredible, I think I've really got to something here, come look at this, you see-" he said, shoving the papers under Ed's nose- "You know how I've been working on this one part for months now, well, I thought maybe I was going about it the wrong way, and-"

At first, Edward's lackluster mood of the day made him disinclined to engross himself in the physics of rocketry quite then, and he almost said so to Al, but the scientist in him won out, and he snatched the papers out of Al's hand, dragging a chair over to work next to him. "Alphonse, you're a genius," he said excitedly, "I never would have thought of this! And now, with this theory, we can completely re-think everything we've done in the past two years!"

Alphonse smiled, shaking his head. "Well, that's a bit much for tonight, but if you could just go through what I've finished so far and tell me what you think…" he started, but Ed was already completely absorbed in Alphonse's notes. He smiled again, thinking his friend was the one who was the genius, to instantly understand what he himself had been working through for days.

Ed's interest in Alphonse's research on rocketry had become sporadic in the past few months. Sometimes, like now, he was as excited about the theories as he ever had been, but other days he was just disinterested, saying even if they could get a rocket off the ground, it wouldn't be with a person in it, not for years, or decades even. "Whatever's up there," he said once, "It isn't home," and refused to say any more on the topic, leaving Alphonse thoroughly puzzled.

It was Edward's growling stomach that finally made the boys realize they had been at it for hours, and that maybe it was time to go home.

"Do we even have anything to eat at home?" Edward complained as they filed away their notes, getting ready to leave.

Alphonse thought for a minute. "Maybe not," he said finally. "Let's stop somewhere on the way home then."

Edward remembered Greta's invitation, and said, "Greta invited us to the Tavern right outside the University to see some band, I bet we could get something to eat there."

Alphonse grinned. "She invited us, or you, Ed?" he said slyly, and Edward blushed.

"Me, but you should come too."

"She likes you, Ed," Alphonse teased.

Ed gave a snort. "Whatever." In a more serious tone, he added, "It was just a friendly invitation. She didn't mean anything by it. Besides, I don't want to get involved with anyone, you know that."

Al sighed as they walked side by side through the abandoned halls, sure they were the last two in the building on a Friday night. This was a conversation they had already had many times over. "Why not, Ed? She seems like a nice girl."

"She _is_ a nice girl! I just don't want to get involved with anyone here!"

But why not, he almost pressed, but instead he said cheerfully, "Well, you got involved with me!"

Without thought, Edward responded, "That's because you're my bro-" and stopped. "You're my best friend," he amended, but he knew Alphonse caught him.

A slight shiver went up his spine. It always disturbed Alphonse, just a little bit, when Ed seemed to mistake him for his brother, even for a second. He knew he was the only person in the two years Ed had lived in Germany who he had gotten at all close to, and he knew that to Ed he was just a replacement for his missing brother. He wished he could say he knew Ed liked him for who he was, not who he reminded him of, but he wasn't always sure. However, Ed was still his friend, and Ed was always there for him no matter what, even letting him stay at his house when he had no where else. He was also, Alphonse thought, a complete genius when it came to physics.

_Rizembool_

"Can you fix it?" Wrath demanded bluntly, almost glaring at Winry.

"Of course I can fix it!" Winry said indignantly. "It will just take a few days, I've got to make a new arm and leg for you from scratch. Why on earth didn't you come to me sooner?"

Wrath looked away, seeming nervous. "She didn't want me to."

"She?" Winry repeated curiously.

"My… my mother," Wrath said, somewhat uncertain.

"I thought you said Ed killed your mother!" Alphonse broke in. The three of them were in the workroom of the Rockbell's automail shop, with the homunculus sitting in his underwear on the exam table.

"He killed them _all_, and now I'm all alone!" Wrath wailed, "and She says I'm no use to her without an arm and leg, and I cant even do alchemy any more, and this automail is too short for me now!"

Winry patted him hesitantly on his flesh arm. "Well, at least we can do something about your automail. Let me measure you," she said as she brought out a piece of string.

Alphonse just stared, lost in thought. Firstly, he was beginning to find automail at least mildly fascinating, partly because it was so important to Winry, and partly because it made him feel closer to Edward. Also, when Wrath was last at the Rockbell residence, Alphonse had been newly restored, very disoriented and confused, and very sad and upset, and everyone seemed to walk on eggshells around him. Al had been kind to Wrath because he felt sorry for him, not even knowing until after he had gone that he was a real homunculus, and not only that but he was the homunculus that had been created when Izumi attempted a human transmutation on her stillborn child. He still did not know that Winry had refused to make Wrath any automail if he told Alphonse any more that the barest details of what had happened in the ancient city underneath Central.

To Alphonse, it seemed that this creature held all the information that had been kept from him, because after all, by his own admission, Wrath had been there when Ed was killed, and had seen the transmutation first hand. All Al knew of that night was what Roze finally told him, and Roze did not know much. She said she had been in a trance of some sort the entire time she was in the ancient city, and even before that, she only had the faintest memories of leaving Lior with her people and the destruction of her city. It wasn't until Dante disappeared that her memories became clear again.

She had told him that Edward was lying on the floor of the ballroom, in a pool of blood, eyes closed, and she thought he was dead, but he woke up. He had two flesh arms, and two flesh legs, but Alphonse himself was no where. He told Roze to take Wrath, who was bleeding from where his arm and leg had been torn off, and get out of the city, because he was going to destroy it so that no other alchemist could come there seeking the Philosopher's Stone.

He didn't say anything about actually having the Philosopher's Stone. That bothered Alphonse immensely.

Wrath was the one who told Alphonse that they had the Philosopher's Stone in the first place. And so, he figured, Wrath must have a lot of key information as to what exactly happened that night two years ago. He would just have to find a way to get the creature to talk to him, without anyone trying to stop him. Because whatever it was that Wrath knew, for it to be kept from him for two years, it must be something very, very bad.

"What do you mean, he killed them all?" Alphonse asked, and flinched at the creature's pained expression. "Sorry," he whispered. For someone he felt sorry for, he wasn't being very sensitive.

"There were seven of us," Wrath explained. "Now She only has me."

"Edward killed six homunculus?"

"He killed my mother!" the boy wailed, and Winry shot Alphonse an angry look.

"Al!" she protested.

"I'm sorry!" Alphonse said again, but couldn't help but wonder who Wrath was talking about. If he had a mother, wasn't that Izumi? And Izumi was very much alive, last he checked, even if they were not currently on good terms.

Alphonse began to think maybe he should call Izumi, so she didn't worry about where he ran off to, and to apologize. Maybe he was starting to have a bit of a temper, without having Edward around to watch out for.

_Munich_

Edward rested his chin on his left hand, his right arm dangling limp at his side, the fingertips brushing against the edge of the barstool. He was staring at the tiny bubbles rising in the beer glass in front of him. Alphonse ducked his head down to the level of the bar to read the spines of the books Edward had piled next to him.

"What are all these? These aren't science texts!" Al said in surprise.

"Oh, just something I was interested in a while back, that I felt like brushing up on. Its Indian philosophy and religion actually," he answered casually.

"What's Shambhala?" Al asked curiously.

Ed continued to stare at the glass as he began to explain. "It's a city that's believed to exist on another plane of reality, where things that aren't possible in this realm become possible, and the only people who can get there are those who have a perfect understanding of the laws and nature of this world-"

"Is that where you're from?" Alphonse asked him, only half joking.

Edward choked on his sip of beer, and bent over coughing. "No!" he managed finally. "Don't be ridiculous! It isn't a real place, it's never been proved to exist. Everyone who's claimed to have seen it, or seen its guardians, didn't really see it. It was a mirage, or a hallucination, or something. No one's actually been there," he said very quickly, not wanting Al to think he believed in fairy tales. "It's supposed to be located in the Himalayan mountains somewhere. I'm _not_ from there," he added, trying to laugh about Al's suggestion. Different plane of reality, eh? "It's some kind of paradise," he said softly, now that Alphonse's interest was peaked. "And they say that those who go searching for it, in earnest, never return."

"Edward!" a female voice exclaimed, and his head snapped up.

"Greta," he said in greeting.

Alphonse nodded. "Hi, Greta."

"Hi Alphonse," she said, sitting down on the stool next to Ed, peering at his pile of books. "Oh, I read these," she said in recognition. "I didn't know you were interested in this stuff, Edward."

Ed shrugged. "I'm interested in everything," he said honestly. Everything that might get me home, he thought to himself.

"I have to say," she continued, "I didn't think you would really come tonight. I don't think I ever see you anywhere but around the University. And you're not even a student!"

"Well, Al and I don't have any food at home, and we were in the lab all night. I was hungry!" Ed explained.

Greta laughed. "Well if that's what it takes to get you out of the house."

"Besides he wanted to see you," Al piped up, and Edward shot him a glare through slitted eyes.

She watched the exchange and laughed again. "Aw, how sweet."

The music was mediocre at best, but the meal Ed and Al shared did its job, and after a second beer Edward began to loosen up a bit, joining Greta and Alphonse in their easy laughter. Alphonse kept winking and looking over at Greta whenever she was turned the other way, and Edward tried to make a joke out of glaring at him.

At one point in the evening Ed slipped again and called Alphonse his brother, not even realizing it until Greta responded, "oh you _do_ look alike, I never noticed that before! But you have different last names!"

"We're not brothers," Alphonse snapped, and Ed turned a little red, hoping that in the dim light of the tavern it wasn't visible.

"Oh come on," he said, slinging an arm around Al's shoulders. "You know what I mean. You're like a brother to me."

"I'm not your brother," Alphonse said darkly.

"Fine," Edward huffed, turning away to face Greta. "See? My first social outing in months, and I've already managed to insult my best friend." She raised her eyebrows at him.

"I'm not insulted," Alphonse muttered. "its just weird."

"Sorry I'm weird," Edward said sharply.

By the end of the night, though, it had blown over, and Alphonse even jokingly called him brother when he suggested they head home. He didn't see the pained expression that flickered behind Ed's eyes when he said it, because in another split second it was gone.

"So, Greta, where do you live?" Alphonse asked her, and she told him her neighborhood, it was near the big train station. "Well, that's not the nicest place to be at night. Edward should walk you home," he offered gallantly.

"Or we could all go," Ed suggested pointedly.

"Nah, I am way too tired, I need to go to bed. I'll see you tomorrow, Ed," Alphonse said, feigning innocence.

"Alphonse!" Ed protested, calling after him, but he was already halfway down the block. Ed sighed, shaking his head. "I don't believe him," he said under his breath. Then, adjusting his pile of books under his arm, he said, "Well, then, I guess I have no choice. Sure, Greta, I'd be happy to walk you home." He smiled at her, to take the edge of the sarcasm he was sure was creeping through his voice. Alphonse might just wake up later that night to a nice pounding from a pillow.

"I can carry those books for you," she offered, holding out her hands.

Ed looked at her. "Ah, that's okay, I can manage them," he said, slightly surprised by her offer.

He caught her glance quickly at his stiff right arm. "I know," she said, biting her lip. Then she offered him another smile. "But," she said hesitantly, "I'd like to hold your hand."

"Oh," he said, taken aback, and awkwardly handed her the pile. He tensed up when she clasped her fingers around his, but made an effort to relax, at least somewhat. They walked back to her place in silence, and when she said good night, he knew she was expecting something, but all he could seem to manage was a squeeze on her shoulder before taking his books back. He figured it was something between a handshake and a hug. He couldn't have been more startled when she leaned in to give him the tiniest of kisses on his cheek, no more than half a second, before she smiled and said goodnight, unlocked her door, and went inside.

_Rizembool_

Alphonse stepped outside to see Roze's son Kain banging on the latticework under the porch with a wooden spoon. The sun was shining brightly and it was a beautiful day out in the country. Winry was intently working on Wrath's automail, humming contentedly as she pieced metal to metal. "Kain, whatcha doin?" he asked, crouching down.

"Alphonse!" came a hiss from under the porch.

Peering into the darkness, Alphonse saw Wrath's violet eyes behind the lattice.

"Get him away from me!"

Alphonse tried not to let Wrath hear him as he chuckled softly. Wrath was afraid of Roze's son. He scooped the boy up in his arms, and said, "Hey little bro, why don't you go play inside for now?" He dropped him down in the doorway and he could hear Kain running around in the living room, banging the furniture with his spoon. That was probably why Roze sent him outside in the first place. Oops. "Wrath, he went inside. You can come out now."

Wrath crawled out from his spot under the porch and sat next to Alphonse on the steps. "Thanks."

"I have a question for you, if you don't mind," he started slowly, and Wrath turned his eyes on his.

"What?"

He had thought about how to word the conversation for a while now. "If I brought my brother back, would you try to kill him?"

Wrath's eyes narrowed, but he considered the question. "No," he said finally. "I would make him bring my mother back. Because he can do things like that with his alchemy, I saw him."

"And who's your mother?" Alphonse pressed.

"Sloth. Mommy Sloth," he said, tears beginning to pool in his eyes.

"I thought Izumi was your mother."

"_She's_ not my mother!" the child cried. "_She _abandoned me! Sloth was my mother, because she was his mother, and he didn't want her, he abandoned her, we were both abandoned, and she was a mother, and I was a son!" Wrath was quickly becoming hysterical, and Alphonse was afraid he was going to get in trouble for upsetting him so much again, but a nagging idea was beginning to form in the back of his mind. "Just like his arm and his leg, he gave them up, so I took them!" _A homunculus is what is formed after a failed human transmutation, a creature with the body of the person the alchemist tried to resurrect, but without a soul. _"He took them back, though," Wrath added, as an afterthought.

Alphonse was dumbfounded. _Edward had killed the creature they created when they tried to resurrect their mother._

Suddenly he was aware of Pinako's fingers snapping in his face. "Alphonse! Hello! Alphonse!" she was shouting. _Was it really their mother Edward had killed?_

He turned to her. "Hm?"

"Telephone," she said gruffly.

Alphonse wandered into the kitchen after the telephone, wondering if it was Izumi or the military who had realized this is where he would have run off to. When he saw the receiver on the table, surrounded by sparkles, his question was answered. Shoving what he had just learned to the back of his mind, he cringed as he picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Alphonse!" came the booming voice. "It is so wonderful that I, Alex Louis Armstrong, have finally discovered your location!"

"Sorry for running off, Major," Alphonse said in a small voice. "You know it wasn't you I was angry with."

"Apology accepted!" The phone was nearly vibrating, and the sparkles seemed to increase in intensity every time the man spoke.

"Alphonse Elric, Soul Alchemist, your presence is required in Central two days from now, at a State Alchemist meeting with the President and General Hakuro!" The exclamation points were visible, Alphonse was certain.

"But that sounds like a war meeting or something, I shouldn't have to go to that, I'm just a research alchemist!" Alphonse protested. Besides, in order to be in Central in two days, he would have to leave that day.

"It is your research we will be discussing, Alphonse! Your presence is essential! Your attendance is required!" The wattage level of the sparkles dimmed suddenly, and Major Armstrong lowered his voice. "The safety of our country depends on this, Alphonse. It is your duty to attend. I'm sorry."

Alphonse sighed, unable to argue with the man or the orders. "Don't be," he said, resigned. "I'll be on the first train I can get."

"Thank You!" the telephone boomed, sparkles seeming to spray everywhere, before they disappeared entirely when the line disconnected.

Pinako stood in the doorway. "What was that about?" she asked.

"I have to leave for Central tonight, Auntie. I'm sorry, I would rather stay here with you and Winry."

Pinako nodded sagely. "Perhaps, Alphonse, if you simply ask the military for some vacation time, instead of running off, you will find that you can spend quite a bit of time with us here in Rizembool." A smile played at the corners of her lips.

Al turned in surprise. "How did you know?" he asked.

"Izumi called this morning."

He swallowed. "Was she angry?" he asked, slightly panicked.

Pinako shook her head. "No, she wanted to make sure you were safe."

Alphonse sighed. "I've really messed things up, haven't I, Auntie?"

She pulled him in for a hug. "Its nothing that a few apologies can't fix, Alphonse."

He hugged her back tightly, trying not to think of what he had just learned from Wrath. _I'm sorry, Mother. I'm so sorry…_

_Munich_

The front door was open when Ed returned from walking Greta home. "Al…" he muttered under his breath. Did his friend want just anyone to wander in at this time of night? "Alphonse, ya left the door open!" he called, not caring if he woke him up. As he trudged through the living room, he realized that the mess all over the floor was not their normal clutter. In fact, it looked like there had been a struggle of some sort. "Alphonse?" he called out, suddenly alarmed. When there was no response, he quietly opened the top drawer of the desk in the front hall, taking out the gun he had stashed there, and quietly made his way to the back of the house.

What he saw in the bedroom was himself, holding a knife to Alphonse's throat, and grinning an evil, toothy grin.

"Greetings, Fullmetal Shortness," said his own voice, before the creature's shape blurred and became that of an androgynous being with long, spiky green hair.

Terror was plastered all over his friend's face. "Edward!" he gasped.

_To be continued…_


	3. Without a Soul, Part Two

**Mirage**

**Chapter Three – Without a Soul, Part Two**

_Munich 1921_

When Alphonse returned home after parting ways with Edward and Greta, he saw that the front door was open. Could they possibly have left it open when they left that morning? He didn't think so. Cautiously, he entered the house. "Hello?" he called.

"Hello brother," came Edward's voice. Alphonse groaned, rolling his eyes. He had no idea how Edward had beaten him home, but he was more irritated by the brother thing than anything else.

"You left the door open, Ed," he said angrily.

Edward appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a knife and grinning maniacally. "That bastard isn't here, and neither is the shrimp. Maybe I should just kill you instead, eh?"

Alphonse glared at him. "I am not in the mood for this," he snapped. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Oh, isn't that sweet. The Fullmetal brat's found another brother to cling to," said Ed, still with that crazy grin, like nothing Alphonse had ever seen. He had always thought Ed was a little mad, with his impossible lies that he himself seemed to believe, but he had never seen him like this.

"Ed, you're scaring me. What's a Fullmetal?"

Without warning Ed lunged at him, his fist colliding solidly with Alphonse's cheek, flinging him back across the room, knocking over the sofa. His vision blurred for a moment, and Al thought he was losing consciousness. When Edward spoke his voice had a weird echo to it.

"We're going to wait for the shrimp to come back, and he can watch me kill you. And then I'll kill him. Slowly. But not before I make him tell me where I can find that bastard Hoheneheim!"

Slowly, Alphonse started to sit up, but Edward was on top of him in an instant, pinning him to the ground with the knife pointed at his throat. Oh God, he thought. He was going to die, right here, tonight.

As he stared into Edwards face, his muddled thoughts began to clear. How could Edward have hit him with so much force as to fling him across the room? That kind of strength was inhuman! Realization suddenly dawned. "You're not Edward," he breathed, half expecting the knife to slice into his flesh as he spoke.

"Sure I am," said the creature who looked like Edward, sounded like Edward, but sure as anything wasn't Edward. "I'm your loving brother Edward," the voice said with sickening sweetness. This thing, whatever it was, had punched him with his right fist. Edward's false hand couldn't even _make_ a fist.

After what seemed an eternity of struggling, he heard Edward's voice calling, "Alphonse, ya left the door open!" and cringed. This was it. Edward had returned, and now this thing was going to kill them both.

_Central 1917_

Alphonse wandered around the storefronts of Central, supposedly shopping for a present for Winry, but his mind was awash with top secret government information, new alchemical discoveries, and foremost, his conversation with Wrath. With how much he learned from him in such a short conversation, it just confirmed how much more information Wrath, and only Wrath, could give him. These two years since he had been restored Alphonse had accomplished many things, all with the goal of bringing his brother back. But he felt like he was working at a puzzle that was missing half its pieces. If he could only lay all the cards out on the table, maybe then he would be able to make some actual progress.

Al stopped at a picture window, something for Winry catching his eye. When he came out of the store, he had in a nice little box a nice little set of custom made screwdrivers of rare shapes and sizes, something only available in a big city like this. Winry would love it. Stopping at a phone, he spontaneously dialed her number, and waited for her to pick up.

"Rockbell Automail," came her familiar voice.

"Hi Winry," said Alphonse.

"Are you coming home soon?" she asked at once. "Or do they need you to stay?"

"I'm not sure yet, listen, is Wrath still there?" Alphonse had been in Central for four days, and he had a feeling once Wrath's automail was replaced, he wouldn't stick around.

"No, he took off yesterday. He was absolutely terrified of Roze's son, it was very bizarre."

"Well, I bought you something-"

"You did?" came the squeal, just as he expected.

"Yeah, something you'll really like," Alphonse confirmed, "and I'm mailing it to you, because I'm not sure when I'll be able to come back to Rizembool."

Winry was silent on the other end for a moment. "Don't do anything dangerous, Al," she warned him. "Make sure you do come back."

Alphonse took her warning to heart. "I'll be careful, Winry, I promise. I have to go now. Bye."

"Bye," she said, worry clear in her voice.

When Wrath said _she_, Alphonse reasoned, he was referring to Dante, the one who created the homunculus. He didn't know much about Dante, not having any memories of her, but he knew that she was a powerful alchemist, powerful enough to put Roze into some kind of trance, powerful enough to manipulate an entire city through Roze, and that she was also in search of the Philosopher's Stone.

Izumi had warned Alphonse not to try to create the Philosopher's Stone, and when she realized that he was researching it anyway, she gave in and told him that he and Edward did find out how to create it, and that it was made from human souls, so many humans that an entire nation could be destroyed before the stone would be complete. Alphonse knew that before he had been restored, he and Edward had possession of the Philosopher's Stone. No one said they created it, merely just that they had it. Alphonse hoped they hadn't created it. And Alphonse had no intentions of creating it.

But maybe this Dante person had one. Izumi also told him that Dante had been her teacher, and lived deep in a forest near Dublith, and so after mailing Winry her gift, Alphonse purchased a train ticket to Dublith and sat down on a bench to wait for his train. He knew hoping that Dante had a Philosopher's Stone was a long shot, but he hoped to at least be able to talk with Wrath, to find out exactly what had happened down in the ancient city.

He tried not to think about how his alchemical research would be used by the military as a weapon. He didn't like to think about using alchemy to hurt people, even if the people it hurt were people trying to invade his country.

He tried not to think about what Wrath had told him, how Edward had killed the homunculus that had been born out of their attempt to resurrect their mother. Alphonse didn't remember what happened, didn't really know the situation, and Edward wouldn't have killed it if it had been in any way their mother. He couldn't have. This thing merely had their mother's body, not her soul, homunculus didn't have souls… but it knew it was a mother, didn't it? That was what Wrath had said, she was a mother but Edward didn't want her, just like Wrath was a son.

Alphonse shook his head, choosing instead to focus on the pattern the morning sun made on the station floor, and the sounds of the train whistles as they came and went through the huge station.

_Munich_

"Greetings, Fullmetal Shortness!"

Rage exploded across Edward's face. "You!" he cried.

Envy pressed the knife harder into Alphonse's skin, and a bit of blood began to trickle out of the wound. "Tell me where that bastard is, or your brother is dead!"

"You let him go, he has nothing to do with us!" Edward ordered.

"He does now," Envy sneered, watching Alphonse's breath quicken as he began to slide the knife. "Where's Hohenheim?" The creature demanded.

"I don't know, the bastard's up and disappeared again!" Edward shouted back.

Releasing Alphonse, Envy lunged at Edward, tackling him to the ground. Al saw the gun Edward had been holding clatter to the floor. "You're lying," Envy screamed. "You stupid brat, don't you get it? I'm going to kill you! And if you don't tell me where Father is, I'll make you watch me kill him!" he said, jerking his head toward Alphonse, who's hand was pressed to his swelling cheek.

"I told you, I don't know!" Edward repeated. "Is it so hard to believe that the old man might run off?"

"Is it so hard to believe that you might be lying to me in a pathetic attempt to save his life?" Envy retorted, violet eyes flashing. "I'll kill you, O Short One, and this time you'll stay dead!" With that, Envy raised the knife, making ready to plunge it into Edward's chest.

"Edward!" he heard Alphonse scream.

"Run away, Alphonse," Edward growled. "_Now._" Unable to free himself from Envy's inhuman strength, he did the only thing he could think of to defend himself: he raised his right arm to block the descending blow. Pain went ringing through his shoulder and his chest as the prosthetic absorbed the full impact of the attack. Clutching his right arm to his chest, Edward crawled towards the gun he had dropped, but as he reached for it Envy brought his foot down on his good left hand. Edward cringed, but swung his right leg up to try to knock Envy off balance. Envy stepped backward and grabbed Edward's leg with both hands, swinging him by the foot into the wall. Shaking the stars from his eyes, Edward scrambled over to the gun and snatched it up before Envy could stop him, firing every bullet into Envy's chest, watching a gaping, bloody hole open up.

Envy's laughter echoed in the silence after the shots. "Stupid shrimp," he shrieked. "You can't _kill_ me!"

Edward steeled himself, and before Envy realized what he was about to do, he plunged his hand into the homunculus. Envy's eyes widened, and he gasped in shock. Edward's fingers closed around what he was after, and he withdrew the dripping bloody mass from Envy's body.

"You… you…" the thing gasped, blood beginning to pour from its mouth. Envy clutched the bleeding wound, staggering back, and incredibly, steadied himself. "I'll be back for you, Edward Elric, son of Hohenheim," he wheezed, "I'll destroy you both," and, even while dripping blood, managed to run out of the house.

Edward slipped the red stones into his pocket before making his way over to Alphonse. "I told you to run away," he said, eyeing Alphonse's wounds.

Alphonse's blue eyes met his. "I-I couldn't, Ed, I was terrified, I couldn't move. What _was_ that?"

Ed slipped his left arm around his friend's waist, pulling him to his feet. "_That_ was my father's other son that he had with another woman, four hundred years ago."

"Ed…" Alphonse groaned, not wanting to hear another impossible story.

"I told you, if you don't like my answers, then don't ask so many questions," Ed snapped.

"It tried to kill us!"

Ed nodded. "And it almost succeeded. You see what happens to people who get involved with me? It's dangerous. Come on, you're bleeding. Lets get you cleaned up."

Alphonse looked at the blood seeping through Ed's shirt. "So are you," he pointed out.

Ed looked down. "Figures," he muttered.

"What if he comes back?" Alphonse asked as Ed wiped the blood from his throat. It was just a shallow cut, but Edward bandaged it expertly and turned his attention to where Envy had punched him.

"I don't know," Edward said. "Maybe I wounded him enough that he'll just die." He didn't sound like he believed himself.

"But he said he can't die! And you shot him right in the chest, and pulled out his heart, and he still ran away," Alphonse argued, as Edward turned his face in his hand.

"You are going to have a really nasty bruise there," he said. "I'm going to get you some ice." Edward winced at the pain in his own shoulder, but walked into the kitchen to the icebox. "That wasn't his heart," he called to Alphonse from the other room. "He's a homunculus, he doesn't have a heart. Here." He handed Alphonse a towel full of ice cubes.

"What's a homunculus?"

"A failed attempt at human transmutation. Basically, an artificially created body without a soul."

Alphonse looked at him through narrowed eyes.

"I told you-"

"I know, if I don't like your answers, don't ask so many questions," Alphonse finished.

Edward placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, looking intently into his eyes. "I swear to you, Al, I have never lied to you."

"That's what you say every time," Alphonse said softly, and Edward got up and left the room, knowing that Al still didn't believe him, and not even blaming him.

_Mansion_

"Completely useless!" the woman who was not his mother cried, pacing back and forth in the sunlit hall. "Bring me the other Elric boy, I said, and you come back alone!" she shook her head. "I don't know why I bother with you at all."

Wrath smiled evilly. "But he's coming here, to look for me. Why should I try to kidnap him when I can make friends with him?"

"Friends? He doesn't want to be your friend, you're his enemy!" Dante snapped, spinning around to face him.

The child shrugged. "He doesn't know that. He doesn't remember anything."

The woman began to pace again. "I was so close to getting that Philosopher's Stone, I was _this close_-"

Wrath smirked. "But you didn't get it. And now you're rotting. You, who say you aren't human, are going to decay away just like any other human, and I, who you call your most inferior creation, will go on living-"

In a rage, Dante clapped her hands together and the floor began to roll under his feet, throwing him backwards into the wall. She turned back to the bright window, saying softly to herself, "Hohenheim's son doesn't know he was the Philosopher's Stone, he doesn't know whether or not he used it all, and he doesn't know that he is _still _the Philosopher's Stone. And he certainly has no idea to what lengths I will go to get it from him."

_Dublith_

Even though he felt bad about arguing with Izumi, Alphonse had a feeling that if he told her he was looking for Dante, she would stop him. He didn't want to be stopped. He was tired of everyone stopping him for his own protection. He could more than protect himself. After all, he was a State Alchemist now, just like Ed had been. When Ed was on his quest to get their bodies back, everyone didn't try to stop him.

He stopped in a corner store. "Excuse me," he inquired politely. "I'm looking for a woman named Dante. She's an alchemist-"

The man behind the counter shook his head. "Sorry kid, don't know her."

"She's supposed to live in the forest, outside of town."

"Don't know any alchemists, sorry," the man said again.

A customer interjected, "Isn't Mrs. Curtis an alchemist?"

Alphonse shook his head. "That's not who I'm looking for!" he said forcefully, ready to try another store.

"Hey, aren't you-" the customer started.

The shop owner interrupted. "Hey, you're the Fullmetal Alchemist, aren't you? The State Alchemist who helps the common man?" He looked him up and down. "You must have grown some, I always heard that Fullmetal was somewhat bean-sized."

In his mind's eye, Alphonse saw his brother throwing a fit at the comment, just like he knew he would have, like he always remembered him doing.

"Helps the common man?" scoffed the customer. "The Fullmetal Alchemist destroyed an entire city and an entire military division!"

"No," he said, still polite. "I'm not him. Thank you anyway, Goodbye," he said, leaving the shop and continuing through the town. The next person he inquired of told him Dante had died several years ago, but that perhaps her house was still there. Alphonse was playing with the idea of simply setting out in the forest and wandering until he found what he was looking for when a familiar voice called his name.

"Alphonse!" It was a slightly whiny, childish voice, and Al looked up, startled.

"Wrath?"

"Do you want to come home with me, Alphonse? I've been to your home, don't you want to see mine?" Wrath said innocently.

Alphonse was hesitant. "You mean you want to take me to _her _house? Dante's house?"

Wrath nodded emphatically. "She wants to talk to you. About the Philosopher's Stone."

At the mention of the stone, his face lit up. "Does she have it?"

Wrath shook his head and said slyly, "no, but she knows where to get it. Come on, this way."

Trying to ignore the feeling that something was not quite right, Alphonse followed the homunculus out of the town and into the forest. After quite some time of walking in silence, Alphonse began to phrase new questions in his mind. "I have some more questions for you, Wrath," he said. "That's why I came to Dublith."

Wrath nodded, walking swiftly through the woods. "Because I'm the only one who knows what happened to your brother. That's right, isn't it?"

"Uh, right," said Alphonse, a bit startled.

"Well, I'll tell you whatever you want to know, but you can't tell anyone I told you. I'll get in trouble."

Al raised his eyebrows. "With who?"

"With Winry, the mechanic girl. She said she wouldn't fix my automail. And with your teacher."

What could they possibly have been hiding from him all this time? "That's fine," Al said shortly. "I wont tell them. But why would they all want to hide these things from me?"

He didn't really mean it as a question, and wasn't expecting Wrath to answer, but after a few minutes, the creature said, "Because they care about you. They're your family. They don't want you to be sad."

This startled Alphonse even more, but his resolve to know the truth was heightened. "I'm already sad," he said, as if that would make whatever he heard all right. "What I want to know is, why did Edward die if we had the Philosophers stone?" He turned to face the homunculus, and said, "You were there while we were using it. What happened?"

"Envy killed your brother. You used the Philosopher's Stone to bring him back," Wrath started.

"And how did I die?" Alphonse pressed, trying to prepare himself for the worst. After all, it was his own death everyone wanted to spare him from hearing about, wasn't it?

"You disappeared, because you used the Philosopher's Stone."

Alphonse shook his head. "I don't understand."

"You were the Philosopher's Stone. So when you used it, your body disappeared. And your brother was alive."

"How did _I_ become the Stone?" Alphonse demanded.

Wrath shrugged. "Dunno."

Then Edward had pulled his body out of the gate, and attached his soul, all with his own powers. So he must have used his own body and soul as equivalent trade. _I held all those lives? Thousands upon thousands of human lives, in my body. Brother, what did we do? What horrible things did we do for our own gain?_

He thought back to the rumors he had heard, not just today, but in Central as well. _The Fullmetal Alchemist destroyed the entire city of Lior, and an entire division of the military._ All of Lior couldn't have been destroyed, Roze was from Lior, and she survived, there must have been others. But a military division had perished there, and Edward had been involved. Alphonse knew that much from his access to military records.

Shaking his head to clear it, he forced his mind back to the problem at hand. "So Edward's body is inside the gate. Just like mine was." He did not want to think about being a vessel for thousands of murdered souls. He did not want to think about the creature he and Edward created during the transmutation, the one Wrath called his mother. She was gone now, the stone was gone, it wasn't even a memory to him. All he needed was information.

Wrath slid his sly violet eyes onto Al's. "_She_ knows how to call the gate."

_Munich_

Alone in front of the bathroom sink, Edward removed his shirt, and undid the straps that attached his prosthetic arm. His stump was bleeding from where the arm had cut into him when he blocked Envy's blow. Carefully, biting his lip from the pain, he cleaned the blood off and bandaged it up, wincing as he replaced the arm, which dug into where he had been cut. Experimentally, he tried to lift he arm, and watched it rise a few inches and stop, feeling a strange clicking sensation in the back of his shoulder but getting no more movement out of it. This wasn't good. He tried bending the arm at the elbow and got nothing. Crap.

He left the bathroom and sat down cross-legged on the bed, once again removing the arm, carefully inspecting it to see what might have broken. He could bend it at the elbow manually, so something that connected something somewhere must be damaged. He just had no idea which something it was. "Hey, Alphonse?" he called. "Can you help me with something?"

Alphonse appeared within seconds. "What's wrong, are you okay?" Edward never ever asked him for help with anything. He looked at Edward's empty shirtsleeve, mildly disturbed by his friend's damaged body.

"Something broke in my arm, I can't figure out what it is," Edward said, almost apologetically, handing the prosthetic to Alphonse.

He took it awkwardly, feeling like he was somehow invading Edward's bodily space, although Edward didn't seem to mind at the moment.

"Does anything look broken to you?" he asked after a minute.

Alphonse turned the arm over in his hands. "I don't know, Ed," he said finally. "I don't know a single thing about prosthetics."

Ed frowned, concerned. "Well, I do, but I can't see behind my own back." He shrugged out of his shirt again, revealing a frightening scar on his chest and three more curving across his side. He saw Alphonse staring at his body, and said shortly, "Sorry, I'm not very pretty to look at." He re-attached the arm, and tried lifting it again for Alphonse, feeling that odd clicking against his shoulder blade again instead of the smooth, if not limited, movement he had become accustomed to. "Can you see which part isn't working?" he asked, straining his neck around, trying to see for himself.

"Um," Alphonse said, watching what was left of Ed's shoulder muscles twitching, and the arm rising a few inches and stopping.

"Come on, Al, you're a mechanic. What's going on back there?"

Alphonse peered between the two layered plates that made up the missing part of Ed's shoulder. They began to overlap as Ed tried to raise his arm, then something would click, and the movement would stop. "Can I touch it?' he asked hesitantly, wanting to stick a finger in there to get a better idea of how it worked, or wasn't working.

"Yes!" said Ed, exasperated.

"It wont hurt you?"

"No! It's fine!"

Alphonse felt around inside the shoulder, and Ed tried again to lift the arm. He felt the parts begin to slide, and then disconnect just as the movement stopped, and then fall flat against the plate. "Okay," he said finally. "I think I know what it is. Take it off again."

Ed did as he directed, and Alphonse stuck his finger between the plates again. "There's a pin, or a piston, or whatever, in here, that isn't extending all the way. It starts, but then it comes apart. That's what's broken. I have no idea how to fix it though, Ed, sorry," he said, concerned.

Ed sighed. "I'll figure it out, I guess. Thanks, Alphonse."

Al's brows furrowed together in confusion. "Why don't you just take it to the doctor who made it for you?"

Ed frowned again. "Nah, he's in London. That's an awful long way to travel with only one functioning arm and that Envy after me. Besides, I mostly designed this. The doctor just helped with building it. I should be able to fix it, hopefully."

"_You_ came up with this? No wonder I've never seen anything like it! How come you're not famous or something?"

Ed sighed. "Well, I made a deal with this med student my dad knew. I got to use the lab at the hospital where we worked on this together, and he used it to publish a paper for his doctoral thesis, and I got a working arm out of it. Everyone else said it would be impossible," he added smugly.

"You let this guy take full credit for your invention?" Al asked incredulously.

He just shrugged. "I don't care, I got what I wanted. Besides, I don't need my name floating all over England. And anyway, its not really that advanced of a design. I just have super-advanced muscle control," he said with a smirk.

"Ed, how did you lose your arm in the first place?" Alphonse had already asked Ed this question on two separate occasions, and received two separate and conflicting answers, both of which Edward swore were true. He was about to receive a third.

"In an alchemy accident. It was a long time ago, don't worry about it. Go to sleep, I'm going to stay up in case Envy comes back. I want to try to figure this out, anyway."

Alphonse lay back on the bed, his head spinning. For all he thought Edward was lying about so many things, if he ever told anyone about what had happened to them that night, he was sure he would be dubbed a liar as well.

"Hey Edward," he mumbled after a few minutes.

Edward looked up from his arm. "Hm?"

"How come that thing kept calling me your brother?"

Ed thought for a moment. "He either really thought you were him, or he knew you weren't really him, but he knew I loved you like a brother anyway."

Al was touched, but puzzled. "But how did he know something like that?"

"Didn't I tell you you look exactly like my little brother?"

"I thought you meant I remind you of him."

"You do remind me of him. Because you look exactly like him." Ed sighed. "If you two were to ever meet, which you won't, but anyway, it would be like looking in a mirror. You're his double, or he's yours. Everyone has a double of themselves out there somewhere."

"Where's your double then, Ed? With your brother?"

"No," Ed said shortly. "Mine's dead. I killed him."

_Mansion_

The child had actually done it. Dante smiled inwardly. Here were Wrath and the son of Hohenheim walking right up to her front door. Who could have thought it would be this easy? "Hello, Alphonse," she said, slowly descending the stairs. The boy seemed nervous, as if he guessed he was somehow in danger. She would have to put him at ease. "You look very much like your father, you know," she said calmly.

His eyes brightened. "You knew my father?" he said, childish delight plain on his face. This would be so easy.

"I knew him very well," she said in that same serene voice. "I hear you are looking for the Philosopher's Stone."

"I'm looking for my brother!" he said hotly. "He's inside the gate."

Dante nodded. "And Wrath has told you, I'm sure, that I can call the gate."

"Is it really possible?" the young boy asked.

Dante laughed to herself. "I can do many things, child. More is possible than what you have been taught. Step into the ballroom with me, a transmutation circle is already drawn."

Alphonse stopped short. "What's in it for you?" he asked, suspicious. "Why should I trust you? You let your other… your other… homunculus… kill my brother!" He glanced at Wrath, suddenly feeling that searching for the homunculus was a good idea, searching for its creator was a bad one.

"He was in the way of something I wanted. You aren't in my way at all," the woman said with a small smile. "I'll send you to the gate, you give me the Philosopher's Stone. Its Equivalent Trade, is it not?"

"But I don't have the Philosopher's Stone!" He protested. This didn't sound right at all.

The woman shrugged lightly. "You'll give me all your information on it, and when you find it, then you'll give it to me."

The mention of the Gate was beginning to trigger shadowy memories for Alphonse, the first he had ever recalled beyond his attempt to resurrect his mother. Slimy arms, little hands, eerie little violet eyes, eyes like… He glanced over to Wrath, who also cringed at the mention of the Gate.

What if I never find the Stone? He wanted to ask. Instead he said, "but where will the Gate get me? My brother is there, but I can't retrieve him from it! I would have to return everything-" The only way Edward could leave the gate was if Alphonse returned to it. That was Equivalent Trade.

Dante threw open the doors behind her, and Alphonse stared into the dusty skylit ballroom. His protests and questions were put on hold as his eyes drank in the huge transmutation circle on the floor.

"There doesn't have to be an exchange," Dante assured him. "You can merely look, at no charge."

Alphonse shook his head. There was always a charge. "I don't want to look, I want to-"

"It doesn't matter what you want!" Dante cried shrilly. "I'll get what I want, at last. You're a powerful alchemist, you may come out of this in one piece yet!" she nodded towards Wrath, who pushed a stunned Alphonse into the circle.

He felt the lines begin to hum, the room began to glow, and he squeezed shut his eyes. _Alphonse,_ he said to himself, _this was a very bad idea._ Okay, so he had been wrong. The thought came to him that if he had just been told the whole truth from the beginning, he never would have come here looking. Angrily, he pushed those feelings from his mind and forced his eyes open. _There's a way out of this,_ he told himself. _I just need to figure out what it is._

Alphonse squinted in the light of the transmutation, taking in every detail of the circle. This wasn't a circle drawn to call the gate, he realized. He had never seen a circle that was said to call the gate, he didn't know if one even existed, but this was one he recognized. This was the circle used to create the Philosopher's Stone.

What was Dante doing? If she was using human souls to create the stone, why was his so important? Why lure him all the way out here? And where were the rest of the components, the red water, all the other humans? Alphonse knew how the stone was created, and it wasn't by trapping a single person in a circle.

Suddenly he felt something warm and thick sliding out of him, right through his skin, and he looked down in horror at his own blood beginning to fill in the grooves of the circle…

_Munich_

Edward appreciated Alphonse's help, but his friend had only located half of the problem. Ed was going to have to completely disassemble the arm just to be able to see what else was wrong, because the problems were all located on the inside. And once he found the problem, he wasn't sure he was going to be able to manipulate such small, complex parts with just one hand. He knew exactly how the arm was made, but he never said he actually built the thing himself.

He groaned in frustration, shoving the arm to one side, and plopped his chin down on his left hand. He did know exactly how the arm was made, he had a complete understanding of its construction. If only he could just clap his hands together and reconstruct it properly, curse this stupid world!

Edward sat up. Maybe…

He tried not to get his hopes up as he made his way across the room, picking up his discarded vest off the floor, and reaching into the pocket. It wasn't his heart that Ed had pulled out of Envy's chest. It was as many red stones as he could get his fingers around. At the time, it was the only way he could think of to slow Envy down, but now, he fully realized what exactly he had gotten a hold of.

Red stones didn't exist in this world. Alchemy didn't exist in this world. Maybe…

Very slowly, very carefully, his heart beating up in his throat with excitement, Edward drafted a transmutation circle on the surface of his desk. He stared at it for a moment, placed the arm in the center of it, put a red stone on the edge of the circle where he would place his hand to activate the transmutation, and watched in amazement as the circle immediately lit up. Taking a deep breath, Ed placed his left hand over the red stone, and the eerie blue light of a transmutation crackled through the room, and with a bang! his arm was reconstructed according to how Ed recalled the exact plans in his mind.

That handful of red stones just became his most valuable possession.

"Brother!" Alphonse called from the bed.

Edward turned around. Why was Alphonse calling him brother? Was he teasing him or something?

Alphonse scrambled out of the bed, stumbling towards him, his eyes strangely bright. "Brother, its really you, isn't it? This isn't a dream, I'm really here with you?" The words tumbled from his mouth, the voice suddenly younger sounding.

"Alphonse?" Edward said hesitantly. Was it possible?

Alphonse caught him in a hug, crushing him to his chest, and Edward hugged back, to stunned to protest. "Brother, what happened to you? Where have you been? Where are we?" he murmured into his brother's neck, unwilling to loosen his grip.

"You're alive!" Edward exclaimed, letting himself have that moment. "Oh, Al, you're really alive!"

Alphonse held his brother at arms length, staring at him. "I knew you were alive somewhere! But, Ed, where are we?"

Forcing himself to ground with reality, Edward's face fell. "Al, this is the other side of the gate… what happened? How did you get here?"

"Well, Dante caught me in a transmutation circle, and then she clapped her hands together, and the room lit up violet, and… I woke up here-" Suddenly Al's eyes darted from side to side, and his head began to jerk. His hands reached up to clutch at his head. "What's happening? What is that?" he wailed.

Edward grabbed his shoulder, looking into his brother's eyes. "Alphonse, everything is okay," he said, not sure whether he was addressing his brother or Alphonse Heiderich. "It's a voice, isn't it?" he asked gently.

Al nodded.

"Look at yourself," he instructed, and Alphonse looked down.

"I'm so big!" He spread his hands out before him, they were a young man's hands. Then he took a careful look at his brother. Edward looked thin, not much taller, but older, paler, tired, with a strained expression. His eyes flickered to his empty shirt sleeve, then to the arm in the transmutation circle on the desk. "What-"

"That's the other Alphonse," Edward tried to explain, not sure how to start. "Your soul was drawn to his body, because it was most similar to your own. Your body is still in the gate. The Alphonse who's body you're in knows you're here. He's probably frightened."

Al's head jerked to the side again, and Edward guessed he must be struggling internally. "Alphonse! Stay with me!" he directed, unsure he was doing the right thing. After all, his brother hadn't made it here in some alchemy experiment of his own. He just said Dante had trapped him in a transmutation circle. That meant, back at home, his brother was in some kind of danger. "Alphonse. Dad said, that all alchemists have a gate inside themselves-" he wasn't explaining it right, he knew- "and as long as your body is still inside the gate, you can go back. Once your mind, soul, and body cross over, then you'll be stuck here, and-" he choked on the tears he didn't realize were falling "-there's no way to get back, that's what happened to me."

"But brother, I want to be where you are!"

His brother's pleading made his heart wrench, but he forced his brain to be logical. "Alphonse. You can't stay here, you're in someone else's body. He's going to keep fighting you, you can't continue like that. You need to go back home, and tell everyone that I'm alive, that I miss them, and I love you, and I'm so sorry..." Unable to speak any more, Edward gave in to the tears, and his brother hugged him tightly. He could feel Al's body jerking in what might have been sobs, or Al Heiderich fighting for control of his own body, or both.

Suddenly Alphonse threw him back into the desk and backed away, stumbling backward over the bed. He pointed his finger in accusation. "What was that? What are you? You stay away from me, don't you come near me, whatever you are!" his friend shrieked, wild eyed.

"I can explain," Edward started.

"No! Don't explain, I'm sick of your stories and your lies!" Alphonse shouted. "You were using _my_ body to channel the spirit of _your_ brother, who I very well may look like, but I am not him! You stay away from me!" he cried as he edged towards the door.

"Don't leave," Edward warned, his voice dull.

"Or what?" Alphonse said cruelly. "You'll make me stay? Tackle me to the ground, maybe, restrain me in some way, to prevent me from leaving?" Al glowered at him. "I'm stronger than you, you know."

"I could do that," he said, unsure of the truth of that statement. "But if you leave, Envy will be out there. And he'll be looking for you. Because even if _I_ know who you are, _he_ thinks you're Alphonse Elric, Hohenheim's other son."

Alphonse glared at him, folding his arms. "And wasn't I, for a minute there? Who else would have been inside my head, using my voice to call you brother?"

Ed brought his hand to his forehead, rubbing through his bangs. "Alphonse, I can explain everything, really."

Al shook his head. "I don't want to hear it," he said, spinning on his heels and exiting the room.

Edward heard the front door slam.

_Mansion_

"You didn't say you were going to kill him!" screeched Wrath.

"I don't have to kill him if he would just release the stone willingly!" Dante snapped back, hands clasped in front of her, straining to control the alchemical reaction.

"How do you know he really has it?" Wrath demanded. "You're killing him!" he said again in protest, watching Alphonse's blood seep through the lines of the circle.

"He doesn't _have_ it, he _is_ it, he always has been! And I need it!"

Wrath had never seen the Stone created. But he had heard about it from the others, the ones who were gone now. Envy had seen it happen many times. And he never described anything like this. Suddenly Wrath saw the Gate appear in front of them, and felt his body begin to tremble in fear.

"It's going to get him!" he screamed, "Don't let it get him!"

Dante turned her fiery eyes on the homunculus. "What do you care if it does? He's just a pathetic human!"

Without thought, Wrath ran into the circle, grabbing Alphonse around the waist.

"Get out of there, Wrath, or that Gate is going to take you back where you came from," Dante ordered.

"No it's not," Wrath said from inside the streaks of alchemic light. He could feel something pulling against him, pulling at Alphonse. "It wants _him_, I can feel it!" He strained in dragging Alphonse out of the circle. If he could just get them both out of the circle, there would be no more transmutation, and the Gate would go away, and all those dark little hands would be gone. With a heave, he dragged Al over the edge of the circle, and looked into his face. The boy was unconscious, Dante was angry, and the Gate might not get him but something else bad was bound to happen. He slapped the boy's cheeks. "Alphonse, wake up, don't be dead yet, you've got to do something about her!"

He stirred, his eyes flickering open. "What…" he mumbled.

"Wake up," Wrath said again, urgently, "Do something to her, she's going to hurt us!"

His eyes seeming to clear, Alphonse sat up and clapped his hands together, the transmutation circles on his gloves meeting. A flash of light shot towards her, seeming to stun her for a moment but she brought her hands down, stopping whatever he tried. Clapping his hands again, this time with more focus, he caused the whole side of the room to light up, and heard her scream.

Wrath couldn't see anything but the bright light when he looked for her, so he took the chance to pick up Alphonse and run out of the house.

He ran all the way through the woods, not feeling tired, and Alphonse never felt heavy. He was a homunculus, he never felt tired. But Alphonse was a human, and was in very big trouble. He took him the only place he knew in Dublith, to Izumi's place.

Sig opened the door when he knocked, recognizing the two immediately and calling for his wife. She took his pale form and laid him down on the couch, trying in vain to wake him up. "What happened," she demanded frighteningly of Wrath.

"He was bleeding," was all he would say.

"From _where?_" she said darkly, unable to find a wound.

Wrath shrugged. "Everywhere."

Izumi turned to her husband. "Get the doctor," she said shortly.

"Is he going to die?" Wrath asked.

"No!" Izumi snapped. "He's going to be fine!" She put a hand on his cold forehead. "He always is."

_Munich_

Edward did not sleep that night. He was worried about his brother. How had Al's spirit crossed the gate? What had his brother been doing? He said Dante trapped him in a transmutation circle: there was no way that wasn't dangerous. He was worried about his friend. Alphonse Heiderich was mad at him, and Ed couldn't even blame him. He had been attacked by a homunculus, something that wasn't even supposed to exist here, his body had been invaded by a soul from another world, and he felt deceived. But what if, wherever he went, Envy had gotten a hold of him again?

Ed shook his head. Envy probably couldn't do much, not since Ed's pocket was full of his red stones. And Envy was looking for Hohenheim, not for Alphonse. Als probably in the lab, Ed reasoned. That's where he always goes to clear his head. Grabbing his coat on his way out the door, Edward figured he could use the walk to sort things out in his head, but he found that all he could think about was home.

He passed by dirty street corners, and thought of the bright fields that surrounded the Rockbell's home in Rizembool. He thought of his brother, and himself, and of Winry playing when they were kids. He thought of the time that Winry flashed the lantern at night for them, because he reminded her that's what his mom used to do. He thought he remembered, when he was very very small, playing in the yard with Winry and his father, while his mother held Alphonse and talked with Winry's mother. Was that place even real?

He had spent five years on this side of the gate, and sometimes he was afraid that his memories of home were starting to fade. He smiled, inwardly, knowing that Alphonse was alive, but at the same time thought, was that even real? Was that really Alphonse he talked to last night, or did he imagine the entire thing? There were so many things he would have wanted to say to his brother if he ever had the chance, and once he was faced with it, all he could say was "I love you and I'm sorry."

Before he had thought out anything to say to his friend, he was already at the lab. Using his key, he opened the door, and Alphonse turned sharply at the table.

They stared at each other for a few moments. "You look terrible," Alphonse said finally.

"Thanks," Ed said dryly. "You don't look so great yourself."

Alphonse shrugged. "I didn't get any sleep."

"Neither did I."

Several minutes passed, neither of them saying anything. Finally Alphonse stood up, then sat on the edge of the table. "So that was your brother," he said, to start the conversation.

Edward nodded. "Yes."

"Is he dead?" he asked next.

"No. I thought he might be, for a long time, but he's not."

"Then how did he get in my head?"

"I'm not sure," Edward said honestly. "He's doing something very dangerous, though."

"So where is he?"

Edward stared at the floor, afraid Alphonse would be angry with his answer. "He's in my world. Where he belongs."

Alphonse was silent in thought for a few minutes before he started talking softly. "Once I asked you to tell me about your childhood. You told me a lot of stories about your mother and father and your brother, and your best friend who lived next door. You told me her parents had been killed in the war when you were very young, and I said England wasn't at war when we were young." Alphonse paused. "You just said you didn't grow up in England, and not to ask so many questions."

Edward nodded. He remembered the conversation. "Should I have told you then, that I was from another world?"

"I would have thought you were lying."

"I know."

Alphonse paused again. "So its all true, then. All those things you said, how you were in the military when you were twelve, how you used to have a mechanical hand that you could move just like a real one, how your father is really four hundred years old, all of it."

Edward smiled hesitantly. "I tried to only tell you things you could believe, but… you just asked too many questions, and I didn't want to lie…"

_Dublith_

Winry sat in Izumi's living room, twisting her hands in her lap. Wrath slumped in the chair opposite her. She had taken the next train to Dublith as soon as she got Izumi's message, that Alphonse had been hurt in some kind of alchemical accident, or fight, no one was certain what exactly had happened. Alphonse was all right, but he had mysteriously lost a very large amount of blood, and his body was exhausted. It was Wrath who brought him to Izumi, and who presumably removed him from whatever dangerous situation he had been in, but Wrath refused to say anything more than "he was bleeding," and that "it was from the alchemy."

Winry glared at the creature from over the coffee table, certain this was somehow his fault. He looked back at her, somewhat fearfully, through his heavy fringe of black hair.

Izumi entered the room, looking exhausted, with a pained expression. "He's sleeping again," she told Winry, before she could ask. Izumi had some health problems as well, Winry knew, and she looked particularly drained that day. She sat down on the couch next to Winry and rubbed her hands over her face. "Alphonse told me some very interesting things while he was awake." She turned her piercing eyes on Wrath. "Dante, for some reason, thought that Alphonse was hiding the Philosopher's Stone in his body somehow."

Wrath tried to sink back in his chair. "I didn't say anything like that!" he protested. "I didn't think she would hurt him!"

Izumi's glare silenced him. She was silent for a moment before she continued, looking Winry straight in the eye. "He also told me he spoke to Ed."

Winry covered her mouth. "How?" she managed to gasp, her voice catching in her throat.

Izumi shook her head. "I don't know. At first it sounded like Alphonse had died, and spoke to Ed, or thought he spoke to Ed, in some kind of after life-"

Wrath jumped up, interrupting. "He went into the Gate!" he told them shrilly. "It tried to get him, but I pulled him away, out of the circle, and it had to let go. It wanted to get him, but it couldn't get his body, I was holding him."

"Sit down and be quiet!" Izumi thundered. After a moment she continued. "It seems Edward has been living on the other side of the gate. And somehow, Alphonse's soul crossed over, briefly, and spoke with him."

"What did he say?" Winry asked, breathless.

"That he's alive, that he misses everyone, that he loves Alphonse, and he's sorry," Izumi said quietly.

Winry stood up. "He had better be sorry!" she cried, before she could think. "Does he know how many nights I cried myself to sleep over him? I thought he was _dead!_"

"He can't come back you know," Izumi said, looking purposefully away. "No one can cross backward through the gate. Alphonse and I both researched it, we read everything that's ever been recorded about it. No one has ever come back through once their mind, body, and soul were all on the other side."

Winry stared at her, then whisked out of the room towards Alphonse's door.

"He's sleeping, Winry," Izumi called after her.

Winry turned. "I just want to see him," she said, "I just need to know that I have one brother, in one piece, safe and sound where he belongs," and she disappeared into the room.

She stared at Alphonse's sleeping face, still with its child-like roundness. He's really sixteen, she figured, even though his body is twelve. I wonder how old he feels? She brushed a hand through his bronze-blond hair splayed out on the pillow behind his head, reminded of a time she had done the same to Ed's as he slept. That was a time when Alphonse had no hair to speak of, when he had no body at all. Once, when they were young, the brothers had fought over who would marry her, she remembered. Edward had won, but her nine year old self turned him down, on account of her height. Now Edward was gone, and Alphonse was five years her junior, instead of one. Winry sighed heavily.

Alphonse's eyes were open, she realized, and she whispered, "hey."

"Hi Winry," he whispered back.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," she told him, still in a whisper. "Izumi said."

He nodded. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I tried not to do anything dangerous, just like you said. I didn't mean to make everyone worry."

"Oh Alphonse," she said, gently squeezing his hand. "I'm just glad you're okay."

_To be continued…_

Next week: Chapter Four- Separation


	4. Separation

**Mirage**

**Chapter Four – Separation**

Edward, 16; Alphonse, 10

_Central, 1915_

Alphonse opened his eyes. It was eerily quiet, and eerily bright. He sat up and looked around. Eerily bright for a room that had no windows. How did he get here?

He rubbed his head. Had he been sleeping? Slowly, he stood on shaky legs, taking in his surroundings. He was in a ballroom, he thought first, with a gold tiled floor and a huge chandelier. No, he realized, it was a theatre, because ahead of him there was a stage.

Then he saw it. The array for Human Transmutation. He was standing in the middle of it. Horrified, he jumped out of it in three quick steps, then just stared at it. It was still humming.

The memory hit him. They had tried to bring back their mother with an array exactly like this one. But what had happened? The pain in his head began so suddenly that Alphonse fell to his knees, clutching his temples. The transmutation had gone horribly wrong. He remembered his body decomposing, Edward trying in vain to catch hold of him, his own body beginning to dissolve as well.

So they had miscalculated, and the transmutation had destroyed them both. But where was he? Was this what happened to alchemists who had dared, in desperation, to tread on God's territory? Was he awaiting some final judgment? He looked around. Then where was Edward? Where was anyone?

"Edward?" he called, his voice sounding strangely dry, and oddly unused.

There were puddles of blood on the floor, and chairs and tables were strewn about, as if there had been a struggle. A trail, also of blood, lead away from one of the puddles. Lost as to what else to do, Alphonse followed it.

He followed it out of the theatre, into a deserted street of a deserted city, weirdly illuminated by something indeterminable. Glancing up at the sky, he saw that there was no sky. Maybe he was in Hell. "Edward?" he called again, his voice echoing off the empty buildings.

He followed it up a flight of stone steps, onto a stone walkway that rimmed the city. It was an ancient city, he realized, this style of building was used somewhere around four hundred years ago. Thoughts of time travel played at the edges of his mind, but he shook his head. Even if, he reasoned, where were all the people? Afraid to call out once more, finding the echo of his own voice the most chilling, Alphonse found that the blood lead to a doorway, and another flight of stairs. Eager to get out of the deserted city, he followed them.

_London, 1915_

The glaring white light was blinding him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He was in pain, and he was in a hospital. He was alive, and that meant he had failed. "Alphonse!" he tried to cry out, but his voice would not respond. Oh, God, what had happened to Alphonse? If he was alive-

the hideous jumble of flesh and bones, nothing properly assembled, shuddering as it struggled to take a breath-

"He's waking up," a voice echoed somewhere.

"Edward, why couldn't you make me right?" 

someone was screaming, and hands were pushing him back down on the bed. He was screaming, he realized. Slowly, he let his eyes open. Unknown faces surrounded him.

"Do you know your name?" one of them said.

"Edward," he whispered, voice hoarse from more screaming than he could recall. "Edward Elric."

"Do you remember what happened?"

I performed an illegal human transmutation. And failed. Didn't I? He shook his head. "I don't know," he said, slipping into unconsciousness again.

_Central_

Alphonse could hear voices at the top of the stairs. Slowly, he pushed open the door.

Two blonds stood up, coming towards him. "Edward-" the taller one started.

"Where is Edward?" Alphonse asked him.

Both boys' eyes widened identically. "Alphonse!" they exclaimed, incredulous.

A woman with long brown hair and a fringe of pink bangs looked up from where she was sitting. "Alphonse? Is that you?"

"Yes…" he said hesitantly, looking from face to face. A child with long black hair lay in the corner, bleeding. His arm and leg had been ripped off. Alphonse stared at him in horror. This could only be a dream, he told himself. This must be a dream.

"But if you're here," said the woman slowly, "Where is Edward?"

There was a crash outside the window, and he eyes darted around the room he stood in. It was a religious building of some sort. There was a crowd outside in the streets, and there was lots of shouting.

"What's happening?" said the younger blond, looking through the window.

The older one shook his head. "I don't know."

Alphonse was beginning to form a new conclusion in his mind. The odd information was beginning to fall into place, and as much as he wanted to deny it, this was _not_ a dream. They had not both died trying to bring back their mother. Only Alphonse had. And Edward had died bringing him back. That was why he had woken up in a transmutation circle, alone.

He realized all eyes were on him. "Alphonse, what happened to Edward?" the older blond asked him.

"Edward's gone."

_London _

Edward, the thing called, with his brother's voice, looking at him through his brother's eyes. The mass of malformed flesh shivered. Edward, why couldn't you make me right?

_There was a hand on his forehead, cool and comforting, stroking his temples and whispering soothing things. He cracked an eye open. Mom, he gasped, but his mother did not have violet eyes. I'm not your mother, the thing with his mother's voice said. I don't love you._

He was screaming as thousands of writhing black hands tore into his flesh- 

_There was no face that could shake his resolve but the creature's true face, a face that looked like that of his father's, and of his own, and his chest exploded in pain, and he tried to take a breath, but could not, and the world became red, and then black, and the cold settled in…_

_He was screaming as his little brother's body dissolved before him, he reached out for him but it was too late, Alphonse was gone, and his own body began to dissolve-_

_The huge flying machine had fallen out of the sky, and he was going to die unless he did something, it was his last hope, he clapped his hands together and there was nothing…_

_Edward, said his brother's voice_

_Edward, said his mother's voice_

_What have you done, Edward?_

_What have you done?_

_He screamed._

"Edward," said his father's voice, but he did not hear. A strong hand stroked his fevered head, cupped his cheek. "Edward, you need to calm down, or you will start bleeding again," the man pleaded. Hohenheim looked up at the doctor. "Give him more morphine," he directed quietly.

The doctor coughed. "Mr. Elric, we've already given him a fairly strong amount, given his body weight. He shouldn't be in any pain."

"Give him enough that he won't even dream."

_Central _

The five of them made their way through the crowded city streets, Alphonse walking between the two brothers and the woman called Roze carrying the injured child. The younger brother, Fletcher, carried Roze's baby.

"Excuse me," said the older brother, Russell, to a passerby. "What's going on?"

"Haven't you heard?" said the woman. "The Furher's been assassinated, and his mansion is burning down! The country has no leader, people are rioting. You children should get inside before things get worse!" She hurried away and there was a crashing sound somewhere in the distance.

"Here," said Fletcher, indicating a doorway. "This is where we've been staying." He led them inside to a sparsely furnished room. Noticing Alphonse's wide, vacant eyes, he motioned for the boy to sit down. "I can't believe you're really real, Alphonse!"

Slowly, Alphonse looked down at himself. "I'm real," he said softly, but inside, he wasn't convinced he was. He felt like he was floating, drifting, without an anchor. He had woken up in a city he had never seen before, and was surrounded by people he didn't know. They must be friends of Edward's.

Edward. What had his brother done? Was it really possible that Edward brought him back to life? What was he doing down in that city below Central? And, he wondered again as he looked from face to face, what did these people have to do with what had happened?

Russell was staring at Alphonse, certain that something wasn't right. There was no way that this boy could be fourteen, he simply looked way too young. After several minutes, Alphonse caught him staring, and said, "What's wrong?"

The older boy pressed his lips together. "I'm not sure," he said finally. The other three looked at him intently. "Are you all right, Alphonse?"

"Ah, I guess I am…" The questions spun through his head. What was the place he had woken up in? Who had performed the transmutation? If it was really Edward, how did he do it? And if it was really Edward, why did he do it? How had Edward survived trying to transmute their mother? Alphonse paled visibly as he again recalled his body being torn to ribbons. How much time had passed? Weeks? Months? Human Transmutation was impossible, that had been proved to him already, it must have been proved to Edward as well, what was his brother thinking? Had Edward's body dissolved into nothing just as he remembered his own?

"Alphonse!" came a faraway voice.

His eyes were darting from side to side, seeming to respond to things not in the room. Roze knelt in front of him, calling his name, but he didn't react. She turned to the brothers. "I think he is in shock," she said, alarmed.

"No," he said faintly. "No, I'm not. But, I feel like… something's wrong… where's my brother?"

Roze and Russell exchanged sharp glances. "You told us he was gone," she said gently.

"Did I?"

She nodded. "Yes, in the church. He and I, and Wrath, were the only ones left down there. You were already gone. He told me to take Wrath and get away, that he was going to destroy the city so no one else could seek the Philosopher's Stone, and I thought he meant that he was going to follow me in a few minutes. I waited, but he never came. Then you showed up, with your real body. And you told us Edward was gone."

His real body, as opposed to what? He glanced at the door, wanting to run away, but realized that he had no where to run to in this city. The child on the floor caught his eye, staring up at him, saying nothing. Why wasn't anyone concerned about his injuries?

"What happened to him?" Alphonse demanded. "Why isn't someone helping him? What if he bleeds to death?"

"I can't _die!_" the child cried suddenly, then was silent.

Roze looked down at him. "He isn't bleeding," she told him. "He won't die. He- I don't know what happened, exactly. I didn't understand what was happening. Dante was- controlling me, somehow-"

"Who's Dante?" Alphonse asked.

"This isn't him!" said the child, from his curled up position on the floor. "This isn't really him. He doesn't know what you're talking about, can't you tell? He doesn't know anything!"

Alphonse crouched down in front of him. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"No!" the child wailed.

"What happened to you?"

Roze, Russell, and Fletcher watched the exchange with growing concern.

"The Gate!" came the cry.

"Alphonse!" Russell said sharply, and Al looked up at him. "Do you recognize me? Do you know who I am?"

Alphonse shook his head slowly.

He nodded towards Roze. "How about her? Do you know her?"

Again, he shook his head. "Am I supposed to?"

This time it was the younger brother who spoke. "You followed us back here and you didn't know who we were?"

Something was definitely wrong. Alphonse was positive. "I thought you knew Edward…" he said, his voice trailing off.

"Alphonse," Russell asked, the question that had been bothering him ever since Alphonse had come out of that doorway in the church, "How old are you?"

_London_

"Alphonse!" mumbled the unconscious boy. "Al, wait! Don't, Al!"

The doctor looked at Hohenheim. "Who's Alphonse? He's been calling for him ever since he's been here."

"My other son," the blond man said quietly. "He isn't here."

"Mr. Elric, he's going to be okay. He lost a lot of blood, but he's going to pull through. You should go home and get some rest," the doctor suggested.

Hohenheim shook his head, gazing at his son. "No," he said. "He can't wake up alone. I don't want to leave him alone."

The doctor nodded, leaving the room. Hohenheim returned to his place by the bed, resting a hand on his son's forehead as the boy tossed in the bed. "Be still, Edward," he whispered. "Everything is okay now."

After what seemed like an eternity, Hohenheim looked down to find Edward's eyes open and on him. "Why are you here?" the boy demanded weakly.

Hohenheim frowned. "How do you feel?" he asked. "Are you in pain?"

Edward closed his eyes for a moment. "No," he said, and opened them again. "What happened to Alphonse?"

"I don't know, Edward. Do you know how you got here?"

Ed shook his head on the pillow. "I'm in London again, aren't I?"

His father nodded.

"What happened to him? The other Edward, I mean. Did he die?"

Hohenheim nodded again. "Your body crossed the Gate this time, because there was no where else for your soul to go. You cannot return."

Edward brought his left hand to his forehead, eyebrows drawn down. "I thought I was in Central, that I was still alive, that I failed…"

"You are alive," Hohenheim said quietly.

"I didn't mean to be…" He pushed himself up to a sitting position in the bed, ignoring his father's protests. "I used myself as payment for Al," he said seriously, confirming what Hohenheim had suspected. "Dad, was that enough? Is Alphonse alive?"

"I don't know."

Edward turned his head away. "Of course you don't," he said bitterly.

Hohenheim reached for his son's hand, but Edward jerked it away.

"Don't touch me, old man," his son snapped, refusing to look at his father's wounded expression.

"Everything is going to be all right," Hohenheim repeated, as if saying it enough times would make his son believe him. "As soon as you're well enough, I'll take you out of here and home with me. We'll be just fine."

"Home," Edward muttered under his breath, "is not with you."

_Central_

Alphonse's insistence that he wanted to go home both frightened and disturbed the Tringham brothers and Roze. First, there was the fact that Alphonse didn't know who they were. When questioned about the last thing that he did remember, he wouldn't say, but he did state several times that he was ten years old. Roze told him gently that when she first met him, he had been fourteen, and the brothers nodded in agreement. As far as they recalled, they knew Alphonse as being fourteen as well. But more alarming than his memory loss was the additional fact that Alphonse did not remember anything that had taken place in the past few days. He told them a very confusing version of what had happened when he woke up underneath the city, and now didn't seem to know where he was or where he had been.

There was also the problem that the Elric brothers had stated, on several occasions, that they had no home to return to. This recollection alarmed them more than anything else.

Every time Alphonse asked about his brother, which was several times a day, they had to watch his heartbreaking expression when one of them had to tell them they did not know what happened to Edward. There was a wordless agreement that perhaps it was best not to remind Alphonse that he had himself told them that his brother was gone.

He also often asked the homunculus, Wrath, if he was alright, did he need anything, and what had happened to him. The concern was plain in his young face. The creature had stopped bleeding on its own, and after its outburst of insisting that Alphonse couldn't actually be Alphonse, he had been fairly quiet. Russell did not hear the conversations between Wrath and the boy, but Wrath couldn't have been telling him anything disturbing because Al's expression remained concerned and sympathetic. At one point he even saw Wrath allow Al to wrap an arm around his shoulders and stroke his hair.

One thing that Alphonse did seem to remember was that he could not get to Rizembool until the upheaval in Central had calmed down. The parliament and the military had been vying for control of the city, and in fact the entire country, since the fuhrer's assassination. There were rumors that the country had been attacked at its northern border, and there were conflicting rumors that the military itself had led a rebellion there. Neither report could be confirmed, and the government felt that the attack on the fuhrer could be related to the possible rebellion in the north, and had put a stop to all transportation in and out of Central.

The rioting after the assassination had been stopped by the efforts of military troops that had acted without government permission, and the city lay in a strained hush, waiting to see if the military would retaliate further for the rioting, if the angry citizens of Central would retaliate against the military, if the country was really at a civil war or if it was being attacked by a neighboring country, and who exactly was in charge.

Alphonse had been turned away at the train station by a military officer, who told him he was very sorry he couldn't find his brother, but no trains were leaving Central that day, no exceptions. No one had been able to obtain more information than that. Al remembered that it was not possible to get to Rizembool, and Russell was fairly certain that Al remembered his and Fletcher and Roze's names, but that, he determined, was all.

On the fourth day, after hearing on the radio that military only were being allowed in and out of the city, Alphonse insisted that they go to the train station just to see if he would be allowed on a train heading towards Rizembool. Russell shook his head, explaining that he and Fletcher had been arrested by the military before the assassination, and thought it was best that they stay out of sight. Roze offered to go with Alphonse, although she also was of the mind that of course the military would not let Al on a train.

"Your brother was in the military," she told him on their cautious walk to the station, knowing he would soon forget any information she gave him. "Maybe if you use his name, they will allow you on board. Because you heard the radio, no civilian travel is allowed yet."

Alphonse shook his head. How did his brother get to join the military, he wanted to ask, but told himself not to bother. For all he knew, he had already asked and been answered several times. How many days had it been since the transmutation? He wasn't sure, they all ran together. How did these people who were taking care of him know Ed? He wasn't sure of that either. He felt so lost, without direction, without anything to catch a hold of to right his balance, and so alone without his brother. He's just gone off somewhere, he told himself, but some part of him knew that wasn't true. Edward was _gone._ He didn't know how he knew it, but he was certain his brother had left, in a very permanent sense of the word.

That was why he was so insistent to return to Rizembool. If he could just find one familiar thing, see one familiar face, maybe his world would stop spiraling away from him, and he could begin, in earnest, to get some answers.

He looked up when he heard voices nearby; Roze was talking to a woman outside the station. He knew that voice. Willing himself back to reality, he looked up into the woman's face, and cracked the first smile anyone had seen from him since he appeared. "Sensei!" he cried, and she looked down in surprise.

The little boy next to the woman who had been irritating her with questions she couldn't possibly answer, that was Alphonse! It was Alphonse in the body of a human child, the way he was meant to be, not in a hulking suit of armor. "Oh, Al!" she cried, scooping him up in her strong arms and crushing him to her chest. "Oh, Alphonse, where have you been? What happened? Are you alright?"

Alphonse had begun to cry, tears streaming down his face and his throat choked with sobs, and Izumi just held him close, rocking him back and forth, thousands of questions bombarding her mind.

_London_

Edward woke up in a small bedroom, not sure where he was at first. Then he remembered his father carrying him out of the hospital and into his car. This must be his father's house. He sat up awkwardly, pushing his hand through his bangs and over his face, feeling more alert than he had ever since arriving in London. As he moved, he felt pain ringing through his shoulder, and understood. It was either be in pain and remain fully conscious, or have both the pain and his awareness dulled. He glanced over at the bottle of painkillers on the night stand.

The smell of frying eggs wafted through the room, and Edward realized he could hear the sounds of his father preparing breakfast over in the kitchen. Turning in the bed, he stepped his foot down on the floor and pushed the blanket aside. There was a crutch leaning against the bed frame, and he used it to bring himself to a standing position. Slowly, he made his way around the room, opening drawers in the dresser until he located a clean pair of pants and a shirt, tossing them onto the bed where he sat back down to change with only a minimum of difficulty.

There was a light knock on his door followed by a slight push, and Hohenheim stood in his doorway, surprised to find his son awake and dressed.

Edward glared at his father. Why knock if you're just going to open the door anyway? he thought bitterly. Trying to smooth his expression, he said without much sarcasm, "Morning."

"I made some breakfast," his father said hesitantly. "I'll bring it to you if you like."

Ed was concentrating on rolling up his left pant leg. "No. I'll get up," he said, not meeting his father's gaze. "I'm sick of staying in bed. Do you have a pin I can use for this?"

Hohenheim nodded. "Just a moment," he said, leaving and returning to sit on the bed next to his son. Edward held his hand out for the pin, but his father poked it neatly through his pant leg, fastening it efficiently. "There," he said, satisfied.

"I could have done that," Ed said darkly, grabbing the crutch and standing up again.

"I'm just trying to help," his father said calmly.

I don't want your help, he thought furiously, but said nothing, using his energy instead to hobble from the bedroom to the kitchen, dropping down into one of the hard kitchen chairs and staring at the plate of eggs.

"Do you drink coffee, Edward?" his father asked from the stove. "Or would you like some orange juice?"

When his son did not respond, he continued, "You can have both if you like."

Edward swallowed his mouthful of eggs. "Whatever," he said under his breath, and Hohenheim set the steaming mug in front of him, followed by a tall glass of chilled juice. He moved the sugar bowl from the counter to the table so Edward would not have to get up if he took sugar in his coffee.

Edward sipped the juice. "Thanks," he forced himself to say, shoving his hair behind his ear so it would stay out of his face while he ate. He could feel his father's eyes on his back. After a few tense minutes, he spoke up again. "Do you have something for my hair?" he asked finally. "I hate having it down."

Hohenheim reached into the pocket of his vest and brought out a hair tie that his son snatched out of his hand. He watched Edward gathering his blond hair behind his head and twisting the elastic tie around in his fingers, trying to loop it around his hair one handed. Not able to quite get the trick of it, the tie dropped to the floor and Hohenheim stooped to pick it up. After the third attempt, he said quietly, "Edward, let me do that for you."

"I can do it!" he insisted, screwing his face up and fumbling once again with his hair, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

After another failed attempt, Hohenheim placed a heavy hand over his son's. "Edward," he said again.

Frustrated, Edward blew the hair out of his eyes in a huff, and said, "Fine! Do it for me then!" He stared at the table, absolutely mortified as his father gathered his hair behind his head for him, securing it firmly with the tie and giving it a gentle tug.

"I have to go out for a while today," his father was saying. "I left the morning paper on the coffee table, and feel free to read any of the books above my desk. Dr. Siegel is coming by later today to check on you and change the bandages. He should be pleased you felt well enough to get up today."

"I don't need to be checked on, I'm fine," Ed mumbled. "I can take care of the bandages."

Hohenheim sighed. "Be that as it may. I feel better about leaving you alone if I have someone to look in on you."

"To bad you didn't think of that when you left us alone the first time," his son snapped.

Unable to respond, Hohenheim simply walked out of the room.

_Rizembool_

Izumi sat on the hard train seat, one sleeping child on her right and one very awake one on her left. It had been several more days before they were able to leave Central and when the civilian trains were finally running, the stations were packed. Roze, who sat across from her holding her sleeping baby, had briefly told her everything she knew. Alphonse was alive and in the flesh, but couldn't seem to remember anything and had no idea where Edward was.

Izumi had her own theories on what happened to Edward and what was wrong with Al's memory. She felt like the products of her entire life were sitting on either side of her as the train clattered on: one, an inhuman imitation of her dead child, the other a child who she had taken under her wing, taught everything she knew about alchemy, and who had used her knowledge to ultimately end up losing four years of his life and his older brother. She frowned as she stared down at the black haired child on her right. Her sins would never leave her, would they? But then, she never expected they would.

Wrath stirred. "Mommy," he mumbled in his sleep. Izumi swallowed. How much was this creature really her child?

"Auntie Pinako can give him automail, right Sensei?" Alphonse said, glancing over at him.

"If he lets them," she said quietly. She had resolved that she would answer any of Alphonse's questions as directly and honestly as possible, but Alphonse had only asked trivial things so far: had she heard the latest news about the war at the border and how long did she think the train to Rizembool would take.

In truth, Alphonse was beginning to feel a cold fear overtake his confusion. He had attempted a Human Transmutation. Human Transmutation was not only illegal, but went against every one of Sensei's teachings. And here was Sensei, and he was sure she knew what he had done. So why wasn't she angry with him? Or, was she angry and waiting to show it?

He clutched her hand after getting off the train in Rizembool. She carried Wrath on her hip, wrapping her other arm around him. His memory of the few days since he had encountered Izumi was perfectly clear, and in the crowds of the station at Central he had become afraid that if he somehow became separated from her, he would return to that floating, detached world he had been existing in ever since he had been revived.

Alphonse was squeezing her hand tightly, and she looked down at him reassuringly. "Don't worry, you're almost home," she said, the three of them leading Roze and her baby down the road to the Rockbell residence.

Pinako could see them before they saw her, four specks moving slowly up the road. She squinted her already crinkled eyes at the horizon; who had made it back? As the figures drew nearer, she pulled the pipe from her mouth and turn back to the house, calling for her granddaughter. "Winry!"

"In a minute, Granny!" came the answer. She could make out a dark haired woman carrying a dark haired child walking next to a blond haired boy. Behind them was a slender woman carrying a baby.

"Winry, I think you want to come out here now," Pinako insisted. Hearing an elaborate sigh and a few crashing sounds from the workroom, her granddaughter thundered across the house and out onto the porch.

"What is it?" she asked, out of breath, before she focused her eyes on the figures coming up the road.

Before she could process what she saw, the boy was running towards her. "Winry!" his small voice shouted, and she dashed down the steps to meet him in the road. She knelt down to hug him, it was Alphonse, oh, it was Alphonse in flesh and blood, exactly how she had remembered him four years ago! She squeezed him tightly in her arms but kept her eyes open, searching the other people who had arrived with him. She drew back, holding Alphonse at arms length.

His grey eyes widened, and his expression went from joyous to panicked. "Winry?" he asked slowly. "Why are you so big?"

"What do you mean?" she asked breathlessly, looking down at herself for a moment, then back to her friend. He looked exactly as she had remembered him… he looked like he was ten years old. Something wasn't right, this wasn't the happy ending she had been praying for.

Alphonse watched Winry, Winry who looked like Winry yet didn't, Winry who looked like a girl, or a woman, really, but still had those same brilliant blue eyes she always did. Her eyes were darting back and forth, and her expression took on a pained cast to it. "What's the matter?" he asked, feeling lost again, the floating sensation had returned.

"Where's Edward?" she asked, her question clinging to the silent air that settled around them.

He looked up at the faces that surrounded them. "I don't know where Edward is," he whispered.

_London_

Edward sat in the corner of the couch, his right leg drawn up to his chest, his chin resting on his knee. His left hand reached down to turn the page of the paper he had spread out in front of him. He nearly jumped when the knock on the door broke the silence that had settled in the small apartment.

Edward was debating whether or not to pretend he was asleep when the knock came again, more insistent this time. "Hohenheim!" came the muffled voice. "Anyone home?"

Ed picked his crutch up off the floor and yelled, "I'm coming, give me a minute!" as he made his way slowly to the front of the room.

He turned the latch on the door and flung it open, staring suddenly at a familiar face. "Roze?" he said, startled.

The woman looked back at him, surprised maybe that he knew her name, or maybe just staring at his missing limbs. "You must be Edward, Hohenheim's son," she said finally. "How are you feeling?" she asked politely.

"Ah, all right, I guess, considering," he said, trying to be equally polite as his father's voice echoed in his head. _Everyone from our world has a double on this side. I wouldn't be surprised if somewhere out there you could find a child who looks exactly like Alphonse._ "Sorry, you look like someone else I know. But I couldn't have met you before."

"Maybe in another life," she said with a gentle smile, sending shivers up Ed's spine. She held out a book with a title in a foreign language. "I wanted to give this to your father," she explained.

Ed raised an eyebrow. "You borrowed a book from my dad?"

Roze laughed lightly. "Actually he's borrowing it from me," she said, holding it out again.

Ed took a step backward into the room, unable to take the book from her and support himself at the same time. "Uh, you can put it on his desk over there, I guess," he said, nodding towards the back corner of the room.

"Are you going to be staying with your father for a while?" she asked as she set the book down on the desk.

"I don't really have a choice," Edward said honestly.

"London is a nice city," Roze said optimistically. "Perhaps you'll come to enjoy it."

Ed rolled his eyes. "Sure, its great, with things falling out of the sky and crashing and burning everywhere." He shuddered.

Roze's dark eyes deepened seriously. "There isn't anywhere in Europe where you can get away from the war." She sighed. "Hopefully it will all be over soon." Ed noticed she was twisting a ring around on her left fourth finger. She saw him looking at it, but said nothing. "It was nice meeting you Edward," she said finally. "I live just upstairs, if you ever need anything. Your neighbors across the hall, the Wallaces, are very nice people too. I'm sure you'll get to meet them soon."

"Maybe," he said, noncommittally. "I'll tell my dad you were here."

"Thank you," she said politely, closing the door behind her.

The second time there was a knock on the door, Edward really was asleep, having dozed off on the couch several hours before. The sound jerked him awake, and anything he may have dreamed was forgotten. "Just a minute," he called, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Hello, Edward," Dr. Siegel greeted him when he answered the door. "You're looking much better, perhaps your father was right when he said you'd recover better the sooner he got you home."

"This isn't home," he muttered under his breath. "You can come in," he added in a normal voice, moving out of the doorway. "Dad said you were coming to check on me."

The doctor nodded. "I need to see how well you're healing, and make sure there's no infection."

Edward sat down on the couch, flicking open the buttons of his shirt so the man could look at his shoulder. He hated doctors, he hated being looked at and prodded at, and he hated that his father had told this doctor to look in on him because he couldn't take care of himself, but he was too tired to make a fuss over it. The man was in the kitchen, filling a small basin with hot water so he could clean the wound after removing the bandages. "Are you in any pain?" he asked Edward.

"Of course I'm in pain," Ed said sarcastically, flinching as the doctor dabbed at his shoulder with a clean cloth and replaced the bandages.

"Your father gave you those pills I sent home with you?" he queried, and Ed nodded.

"I took some yesterday. I didn't take any today."

"Good," the doctor confirmed, "everything looks good. Slide your pants down."

Sighing, knowing it was unavoidable, Edward complied, and gritted his teeth while the doctor unbandaged and cleaned what was left of his left leg. The sight of his bloody stump, paired with the insistent pain he had felt all day, made his stomach turn. He looked away. "And does that look good?" he asked, still with an edge of sarcasm.

The doctor nodded affirmatively. "Fine, you're healing just fine, Edward." He took a seat opposite him as Edward pulled his clothing back on. "Your father has been very worried about you, but you're doing just fine. You look much better than even a few days ago."

"I hate the way he worries," Ed grumbled.

The doctor raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Of course he worries about you, he's your father. That's what fathers do. My son is away in the war, and I worry about him every minute of the day."

Ed pulled his leg up to his chest again and rested his chin on his knee. "Is your son a soldier?"

Dr. Siegel shook his head. "No, he's a military doctor. He's not even a soldier, and I can't even know where he's stationed, its all top secret."

He thought of Winry's parents, who had been killed in the Ishbal war when he was just a kid. They had been military doctors as well. "I hope he comes back to you," Ed said sincerely.

"I do too," he said, with a faraway gaze. Then he seemed to snap back to reality, and said, "I know it doesn't seem like it, but things are going to get much better. As soon as your leg heals, there's no reason you wont be able to use a prosthetic, and you wont have any trouble getting around at all."

Ed frowned. He knew the doctor meant an ordinary wooden leg, nothing near as advanced as automail. Hohenheim had warned him that automail technology, along with alchemy, didn't exist in this world. "I can't wait," he said in a monotone.

Trying to be encouraging, the doctor continued, "You'll find you'll be able to do most things you did before, once you get used to it."

Ed shook his head, thinking of how his automail had been even stronger than his real limbs, and in some cases even more useful. "I don't think so," he said, in the same tone. "But I guess I'll find out," he added, trying, for the doctor's benefit, to sound more optimistic than he felt

When the man left, he let his head fall back onto the couch and closed his eyes. _Alphonse,_ his mind echoed, unable to progress past that one thought. _Please let it have been enough._

_Rizembool_.

Alphonse was so sure he had everything figured out now. He wasn't prepared for any surprises. He had accepted, after seeing Winry, that almost five years had passed, and worked that into his mental reconstruction of what must have happened. He had heard his own story of waking up in the Transmutation Circle repeated back to him, and knew that he was the product of a Human Transmutation.

He and Edward had tried to resurrect their mother. He had died during the transmutation, and Edward had lost his arm and leg, which was why he had automail. But Edward couldn't accept his brother's death any more than he could his mother's, and had given Human Transmutation another try. And going against every law in the universe, every law that they had tried to convince themselves they could get around, he had actually done it. Alphonse had returned to the world of the living, after nearly five years. So Edward had spent five years of his life trying to find a way to bring Alphonse back.

And he must have used himself as Equivalent Trade. He must have, what else can be traded for a life? He didn't need to ask what had happened after they tried to transmute their mother. He knew she wasn't alive, had never truly expected her to be. He had gone through all the preparations carried by his brother's certainties, making himself believe the impossible was possible.

But if it was impossible, what had his brother done? But no one knew exactly what Edward had done. Even Roze didn't really know, and she was the last to see Edward alive.

Alphonse wasn't expecting any surprises when he finally sat down with Winry, Izumi, Pinako, and Roze. He thought that at the end of it all, when they filled him in on the five years since his death, they would talk about what might have happened to Edward and if he was really gone. He wasn't expecting not to even make it to that part of the discussion.

"Brother did what?" he asked, incredulous.

"He bound your soul to a suit of armor, using his arm as equivalent trade," Izumi said seriously.

"And you came to our door then, Al, carrying Ed, covered in blood," Winry told him. "We didn't know who you were until you spoke, it was your voice in this huge metal armor."

"But how did he know how to do something like that?" Alphonse asked, still puzzled. He and Edward had studied all the same books, had all the same training, and Al didn't know anything about transferring a soul.

"He saw the gate," Izumi said.

Alphonse felt a chill creeping up his spine at the mention of it. What was the gate, and why did it make him feel that way?

"When an alchemist attempts a human transmutation, he is brought to the gate, and the gate takes its toll, in your case your body and Edward's leg. Edward managed to stop the transmutation before it progressed any further, which is amazing in its own right. But if an alchemist sees the gate, he is shown what we call The Truth. He gains a perfect understanding of alchemy, he is shown in a few brief moments more than what can be learned in a lifetime of study." Izumi paused. "That's how he knew." She was quiet for a moment, then continued. "Alchemists, like Edward, who have seen the gate, can do alchemy without a transmutation circle."

_Izumi could do alchemy without a circle._ He stared at her. "You…" he managed.

His teacher nodded sorrowfully. "And now you, my students, have repeated my mistakes," she said grimly.

Alphonse's brain continued to spin. He turned to Roze. "I'm sorry, you probably explained this to me already," he began, knowing that his memory had been spotty the first few days after the transmutation, and that he had spent those days with Roze. "You know me?" he asked her finally, and she nodded. "And those brothers, the Tringhams, they know me too?" Roze nodded again.

"When I met you," Roze said slowly, "You and Edward were looking for the Philosopher's Stone, to try to regain your original bodies."

That had to have been how he did it. They had found the stone, after five years, and Ed had used it to return Al to his body. The Philosopher's Stone allowed an alchemist to bypass the laws of Equivalent trade. Al raised his hopeful eyes. "But if he used the Philosopher's Stone," he said eagerly, "Then he's still alive!"

But Roze was shaking her head. "I don't think that's what happened," she said softly.

Winry, who had been quiet for some time, snorted in disgust. "What do you mean, you don't think that's what happened? You were there, weren't you?"

"I was," Roze admitted miserably, "But I didn't know what was happening… I was in a trance of some kind…"

Pinako stood up abruptly. She had been watching Alphonse carefully. "That is enough for today," she declared.

"But wait!" Al protested.

The old woman shook her head. "Another day, Alphonse. We have plenty of time. A lot happened in those years."

_London_

Hohenheim came as soon as he heard the crashing sounds coming from the living room. It started with one loud crash, and was followed by a sharp moan and the sound of several more objects falling. Not knowing what he might find, he rushed to his son's side.

Edward was sprawled on the floor at the foot of his father's desk, the desk chair toppled over behind him, his crutch several feet away, and heavy books scattered over the desk and the floor. One more slid off a shelf as he watched, colliding with the desk with a solid _thunk._

His son jerked his body away as soon as he felt his father's hand on his back, pushing himself upright with his only arm. "Go away," he said defiantly.

Hohenheim pointedly ignored the request, gathering books off the floor and righting the chair. "What," he inquired, "did you do?"

"I fell," he said flatly, "Now leave me alone, old man." He winced and rubbed the base of his skull. There was already a lump forming.

"You're bleeding," his father told him, and he touched his fingers to his lip where he felt something warm.

He stared for a moment at the red on his fingers before wiping them on his dark pants. "I guess I bit my lip," he said finally. Reluctantly he accepted his father's handkerchief and pressed it to where his lip was stinging.

His father's eyes wandered over the mess on his desk and up to the missing top shelf of the bookcase. His eyes came to rest on his son, who was still sitting up at the foot of the desk. "How did you fall?" he said, his voice thick with concern.

"I lost my balance," Ed said snidely, with narrowed eyes. He looked around for his crutch, saw that it was a good distance away, and used the edge of the desk to pull himself to his one good leg, only to let himself fall back down into the chair his father had righted.

Hohenheim frowned, a disturbing scene forming in his mind. "And what were you balancing on?" he inquired, staring up at the top shelf again.

"The desk."

And how on earth did you get up on the desk, he wanted to ask, but kept silent, the anger at his son's carelessness for his own well being seething behind his eyes. "Edward!" he exploded finally. "What were you thinking? You could have seriously hurt yourself!"

Edward slumped back in the chair. "What do you care?" he snapped.

"I care because I'm your father!" Hohenheim retorted. He eyed the mess once more. "What did you do, climb up on the desk and then knock the whole shelf off the wall?"

Edward glared at him. "Its not like that's what I was trying to do."

His father's golden eyes flashed angrily behind his glasses. "Well what did you _think_ would happen?" he demanded

"I _thought,_" he snapped back, "that I could find myself something to read without bothering you again!" He looked off towards the wall. "How many things have I already asked you for today? Put my hair up, tie my shoe, button my shirtsleeve, put butter on my toast-" he took a deep breath and continued with his list "-light the candle in my room because I can't strike a match, cut up my dinner because I can't handle a knife, carry my notebook, carry my teacup, put my dish in the sink, put up with my insults, aren't you _sick_ of me by now?" he finished, swiping angrily at the stubborn tear that managed to squeeze out of the corner of his eye. His head was beginning to throb from the crack on the edge of the desk.

Hohenheim let his tired shoulders sag, all the anger draining out of him. "Edward," he said quietly. "You aren't _bothering_ me." He pulled another chair over and sat down to face his son, sighing heavily. "I know you're angry with me for leaving you when you were a child, I know you blame me for your mother's death, and for… everything-"

"That's for damn sure," Edward said darkly, still not looking at his father.

He pressed on. "I know this world is difficult to adjust to, and I know you're frustrated, but just slow down, give it some time. You can't do everything at once, you have to start small." Hohenheim shook his head, he wasn't saying what he wanted to say. "After the accident, before you got your automail, while your body was healing, who helped you then?"

"Alphonse," Edward answered under his breath.

"Did you think you were bothering him?"

Edward looked up, and something flickered in his eyes, not quite anger. "No."

"How did you know?"

"Because he's my brother!" Ed snapped, his expression wary.

Hohenheim nodded. "And I'm your father."

"I said I want to be alone," came the response.

He got up, retrieving his son's crutch from where it had landed, and propped it up against the desk. He looked at the pile he had made of the books that had fallen. "Is the book you wanted in this pile?" he asked.

Edward nodded. "Yeah."

He stiffened when he felt his father's heavy hand on his shoulder. "Don't stay up all night reading." He waited for a response of some kind, but Edward continued to stare at the floor. Not until he was almost out of the room did he hear his son's voice.

"Dad?"

Hohenheim turned back to face the room.

"I'm sorry I knocked your stuff down."

_dream_

They hadn't been in the house in almost a year, since they had gone to train with Izumi, and it was empty, and dusty, and devoid of the warm life they had once lived there. Quietly, with hushed excitement, the brothers unlocked the door to the room that had been their father's study, before he disappeared. Surrounded by the books and alchemy equipment they had been in awe of when they were younger, they carefully measured out their ingredients, checking and double checking every measurement. Carefully, inch by inch, checking and re checking every symbol and every angle, they drew the transmutation circle, feeling the excitement in the air begin to build. They were about to do what no alchemists had ever done before, because they were not afraid. They would bring her back. They had studied long and hard, and measured everything exactly, and drawn everything perfectly, and after tonight, they were going to be together again, the three of them, a family.

_To be continued…_

Next week: Chapter Five – To Learn


	5. To Learn

**Mirage**

**Chapter Five – To Learn**

Edward, 16; Alphonse, 10

_Rizembool 1915_

The child did not get up, and this seemed to concern only Alphonse.

"Winry gave you a wooden leg to use for now, don't you want to get out of the house?"

He shook his head. "Nope."

"Aren't you hungry? Don't you need to eat something?" Alphonse pressed.

"Nope. I don't need to eat."

He frowned. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked again.

"No, I'm not all right!" he whined. "Mommy is ignoring me!"

"Mommy?" Alphonse asked, puzzled.

The child quieted down a bit, nodding towards Izumi, who was visible from the other room. "Isn't she my mommy?"

Slightly stunned, Alphonse didn't know what to say. Could Izumi be this child's mother? It was possible, he guessed, but then, just as he said, why was she ignoring him?

"How come I'm the only one who comes in here to see you?" he asked without thinking.

The child smiled a slow, chilling smile. "Because everyone else is afraid of me," he said, not knowing if that was true, but liking the sound of it. "And you would be too, if you could remember."

A child with only one arm and one leg didn't seem like something to fear, Al thought, but something about him had been bothering him ever since they met. "Why are they afraid of you?" he asked.

The boy turned those odd violet eyes on him, not answering for a moment. "Can't you tell?" he asked mockingly. "They don't like me, because I'm not like them." He lowered his voice to a whisper, and added conspiratorially, "I don't have a soul."

"Everyone has a soul," Alphonse protested, although his certainty wavered.

"Every human has a soul," Wrath corrected him

"Al!" Winry's voice called from somewhere in the house.

"Go ahead," Wrath said, waving him away. "I don't need your company anyway."

He hesitated for a moment, but Winry was calling him again, and finally he turned and hurried through the house after the sound of her voice.

She was smiling brightly, holding up a picnic basket. "Lets go to the river," she said to him when he entered the room. "I packed us some lunch, come on, its beautiful outside."

Al shrugged. "Okay," he agreed. Winry was right, he decided as he walked beside her, swinging the picnic basket at his side, with Den trotting faithfully just behind them. The sun lit the surrounding fields and a light breeze played at his face. It was, of course, a beautiful day. And there had been four years worth of beautiful days in Rizembool that he had forgotten. But if he was a suit of armor, as he had been told, he wouldn't have been able to feel the warmth of the sun or the cool breezes, or smell the scent of freshly dug earth. Edward had given these things back to him.

And Alphonse would trade them all in a minute just to have his brother back.

"Al?" Winry questioned.

He faced her.

"Are you all right?" she asked, concerned.

He gave her a smile. "Yes," he answered, although right then, he wasn't sure that he ever would be. Not alone.

His best friend reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. "I'm glad." His young eyes stared at her, taking in all the differences since he had remembered her last: she was taller, her hair was longer, her voice was deeper, her body was… here he blushed. Her body was different. And every time she looked at him her eyes held such a mix of delight and sorrow, he couldn't help but know what she was thinking: _I'm happy to have Al back. I miss Ed._

He had spent days in discussion with Izumi, fitting together all of the things he had been told. "I'm going to bring him back," he swore to her, but she shook her head fiercely and told him not to think like that, not yet. He went over in his mind everything he knew about human transmutation, and everything Izumi had told him in the past few days. He had spent days in contemplation.

He was surprised when the reached the river so quickly, he must have been deep in thought. Winry dropped to her knees in the soft grass, quietly unpacking the basket, and finally reaching for Alphonse, pulling him gently to the ground. "Just enjoy the day," she said softly. "Try not to think about everything."

"I want to think about everything," he protested, but he obediently settled to a sitting position in the grass and reached for an apple out of the basket. As a suit of armor, he certainly couldn't have eaten anything. Was this really the first apple he had tasted in four years? It didn't feel like it.

"Have you done any alchemy yet?" she asked abruptly., and Alphonse shook his head. Her next question startled him a bit. "Would you do some for me?" she asked. "You and Edward always used to make things for me when we were little, trying to impress me."

Alphonse giggled. "You were so scared that first time we showed you, you couldn't stop crying!" he reminded her.

"I meant after that, silly," she laughed, but Al was still stuck on her previous words, _when we were little._ He didn't think of himself as little. He and Edward were big boys, going off on their own to receive training from a powerful alchemist. They were able to do things ordinary people, even adults, couldn't do. They were even able to do things even ordinary alchemists couldn't do. He never felt little.

He never felt little until now, when his best friend, who had only been a year older than him, was now nearly a foot taller than he was and looked an awful lot like a grown up. Alphonse sat up on his knees, clearing an open spot in the dirt under the tree. He carefully drew out an array with a stick, dumped handful of leaves in the center, raised his eyebrows once at Winry, winked, and started the transmutation.

The leaves had become bird shaped, and in the blue light of the reaction, they fluttered past each other, spiraling around until the energy dissipated, then settling on the ground in front of him. Winry reached out and picked up one of the leaf-birds, cradling the delicate object in her sturdy hand. "Thank you," she whispered.

_London 1915_

Hohenheim opened his front door, tiredly shrugging off his coat and pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "Edward…" he started, uncertain as to what to object to first.

His living room looked like a tornado had blown through it, in the form of his older son. Edward had done that to his home in Rizembool also, he recalled. Trisha had called it something like "the terrible twos."

Edward sat in his father's desk chair, his one foot kicked up on the desktop and a book propped against his leg. The shelves above the desk were now completely empty, and Hohenheim's collection of books was scattered across the room: spread out on the desk, on the floor, on the couch, the coffee table… along with the books, a few apple cores sat on the edge of the desk, next to an empty glass and a burnt out candle.

"What?" his son replied, not looking up from the book he was reading.

"Take your foot off my desk," he began, and Edward gave him a sidelong glare and complied.

"Sorry," he muttered, returning to the book.

Deciding it wasn't worth another possible explosion of temper, his father quietly picked up the glass, apple cores, and candle and disposed of them properly, then began to return some semblance of order to his books. "Did you read all these?" he asked conversationally.

Edward shook his head, still staring at the pages. "Only the interesting ones. I don't have anything else to do." He finally glanced up. "This world sure is weird."

Hohenheim chuckled. "I agree."

"Its like everything operates on a whole different set of rules here," his son complained. "Everywhere I look, things don't make sense, and the more I try to research it, the more I realize just how much of it I don't understand."

"All that and you haven't even left the house yet."

Edward glared up at him but said nothing in response. Finally he sighed, closed the book, and laid it on the desk, leaning back in the chair. "I don't think the information I want is in a chemistry book anyway." He frowned, reconsidering. "Although it is interesting. Its like alchemy, but not."

"And what is this information you want?" Hohenheim asked carefully.

"The gate exists here. Just because alchemy doesn't work doesn't mean there is no gate. There must be a way to open it. There has to be!" Edward said firmly, his hand tightening into a fist.

Hohenheim's eyes widened slightly. "You don't mean… you're trying to go back?" he asked, incredulous. Abandoning his previous attempts to avoid all lines of conversation that might result in a shouting match, he continued, "Edward, you can't. You're here now, you can't go back. The sooner you accept that-"

"I will not accept that!" Edward roared, slamming his fist down on the desk. "I need to go back, I need to know what happened, I need to know what I did! I can't _not_ know!" He was silent for a moment, visibly struggling to control his temper. "Nothing is impossible," he said fiercely. "There are only things that haven't been done yet. That doesn't mean they're impossible, humans just haven't learned how to do them yet."

Hohenheim met his son's blazing golden eyes, choosing not to respond with what he knew to be true: of course some things were impossible. Of course the universe had laws that cannot be broken. Instead he took a deep breath, and took a seat next to Edward. "You should be dead now, for even attempting human transmutation, whether you were successful or not," he began, and Edward looked down at the book in front of him, refusing to meet his eyes. "But you're alive somehow. And I'm alive somehow, in this world we don't belong in-"

"I would rather be dead and know that Al's alive than be stuck here in this world with you," his son interrupted. "You are the last person I ever wanted to see again!" Edward forced himself to stop before the unspoken 'and I hate you' escaped his lips.

Hohenheim's gaze was downcast. "I know that, son, and for that I am deeply regretful. I wish there was a way to prove that to you."

"Well there isn't," came the sullen reply.

The man stood, straightening, and wordlessly began to re-shelve the pile of books he had gathered, reaching over his son's head. Edward sat staring at the pages in front of him, but no longer reading, only waiting for his father to say something else he could object to.

"I'll let you know when dinner is ready," Hohenheim said finally, and Edward gave a curt nod, not looking up.

After a few minutes Edward got up and went to his room, feeling tired although he hadn't moved from the desk all day, and feeling uncomfortable in the silence that stretched between the front room and the kitchen, between him and his father.

He sighed as he collapsed onto his bed, reaching over the nightstand for another book and curling up with it. There have to be answers somewhere, he thought to himself, but he couldn't make his mind concentrate on the words in front of him. The uncomfortable silence had stretched all the way into his bedroom, it seemed.

_Rizembool_

Izumi sat on the edge of the bed, watching the creature that was her son twitching in a drugged sleep. Neither Winry or Pinako knew how automail surgery would affect his homunculus body, or even if it was possible, but so far he hadn't rejected the metal parts. Perhaps it would even be easier on him, since homunculus could supposedly sustain far more than an ordinary human.

She was waiting for him to wake up, so that he would see her face first, and not be alone, although the child had insisted repeatedly that he did not mind being left alone, and that he preferred not being to close to "real" humans.

Directly above her there was a loud _thump_ on the ceiling, followed by muffled cries. Her eyes snapped up.

"Wait! Brother, this isn't right!" she could hear through the walls. Izumi stood up at once, glancing once more at the sleeping child, and made her way quickly up the stairs. Alphonse was having a nightmare.

He hadn't had any the first few months after he had returned. He maintained that he remembered his and Ed's attempt to transmute their mother, and he had some very vague memories of the few days after he had woken up under central, and even for weeks after he had been restored his memory was not what it should have been. However recently, though his memory was finally sound, the nightmares had started.

It broke her heart to hear Alphonse calling for his brother.

She pushed his door open and moved quickly to the edge of his bed, wrapping her arms around him, keeping him from thrashing about in his dream. "Shhhh," she whispered, "You're dreaming, Alphonse, you're having a nightmare," but he did not wake up. Izumi shook him lightly, trying to shake the dream from him, and eventually his eyes opened.

"Sorry, Sensei," he said in a small voice. "I'm sorry I keep waking you up." In the darkness of the bedroom, his eyes looked magnified behind the tears that were pooling.

"Don't be sorry, I wasn't sleeping," she said gently, rocking him back and forth in her arms until his breathing became regular again. When she was certain he was asleep, she tucked the covers around his sleeping form and made her way back down the stairs. She did not hear the front door clicking shut.

As soon as Izumi had left his side, Wrath's eyes had opened. He raised his metal hand above his face, watching the fingers open and close. _Just like his,_ he thought grimly, then tested out the automail leg. It felt odd, as if his limbs had fallen asleep. He could move them but not feel them. _This will do,_ he decided, and before Izumi could return, he slipped out the door, never intending to return to this family who, though wary of him, had offered him everything.

_London_

That face, the one that looked so much like his own, like his father, like his brother, hell, it _was_ his brother, wasn't it? Ed's eyes widened when he felt the pain in his chest, too shocked this once to have dodged this one. He tried to do something, anything, but he found he couldn't move, he was pinned by the spear that had been driven through his chest. Something wet and warm was pooling around him. _You can't be_, he tried to say, but realized he had no air, he could not take a breath, and the face in front of him was once more the androgynous being he had fought with before. It was too late. He could feel the life running out of him. He would never see his brother again, never see his home again, but it was all right. Alphonse had the Philosopher's Stone. Al was smart, he would get out of this somehow, and use the stone to bring back his body, and live out his life the way he should have. But the _pain_…

He was screaming, he realized, struggling between consciousnesses. His father was there, hand on his shoulder, urging to wake up. As the last vestiges of the nightmare left him, he focused his eyes on his father's alarmed expression, pushing his hand away. "What happened?" he father demanded. "What's wrong?"

"A nightmare…" Ed said faintly.

The concern was plain behind his father's eyes. "It's two in the afternoon," he said, betraying the confusion he felt. Hohenheim began to straighten the blankets around his son, and pulled a few books out from the tangle of the bed.

Ed squeezed his eyes shut. "I was tired," he provided. "Why are you home?"

To check on you, was the answer, although Hohenheim thought better of admitting that to his son. After a moment, he said, "I'll bring you some tea," and left for the kitchen.

Edward turned over in the bed, pushing his face into the pillows, nightmares and memories playing against his eyelids. He was so tired, yet every time he tried to sleep, he woke up like this, not always screaming, but always afraid, and never rested. Something hard was pressing into his cheek, and frowning, he sat up and removed the pen from under his pillow, checking to see that it hadn't broken and spilled ink onto the sheets. He tossed the pen and another book onto the nightstand and reached for his crutch, hauling himself upright and hobbling to the one small window in the room.

Leaning his forehead on the glass, he watched his breath make little ovals of fog every time he breathed out, and watched the people in the distance walking past, going about their business. _They don't know,_ he thought to himself. _When they die, their souls don't go to heaven. They cross the gate, and become alchemic energy. That is all. There's no good and bad in this world, everyone's soul goes to the same place. They don't know that all their stories about the afterlife are wrong._

Ed jumped a little at his father's voice, but didn't turn around, continuing to lean against the glass. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?" he mumbled, watching the glass cloud again as he spoke.

"The nightmares. You have them a lot." His father's voice was hesitant, as if he expected his concern to be met with angry objections.

And he had a reason to think that, Ed thought darkly. He slowly turned his head to face his father. "That depends. This one was about you. Do _you _want to talk about it?"

He watched his father's expression, so innocent, as if he couldn't imagine doing anything that might give anyone nightmares.

Ed turned back to the window. "Never mind," he said tonelessly. "When we die, will our souls go back to Amestris, to fix some alchemist's broken picture frame?"

Surprised by the sudden turn in conversation, Hohenheim gave his best answer. "That's all a soul is, Edward. Take away the body, take away the memories, and it's just energy. That's the only place it can go."

"And everyone at home then? Where to their souls go? Not here. Do they?"

Hohenheim shook his head. "Perhaps. As energy. Perhaps they stay in our world, and become something else," he offered, unsure of where his son was going with this.

"All is one, one is all," Ed said in a faraway voice. "That's what Sensei taught us. We're all part of the same world. Nothing comes, nothing goes, it merely changes. Death happens, birth happens, but the content of the world is always the same. They have a rule like that here, too, don't they? Nothing can be created or destroyed?" He turned away from the window, facing his father with serious eyes.

"Yes," his father conceded. "That is a law of science here."

"But it's not really true, is it? Because we're here. This world now contains two more people than it's supposed to. And the universe hasn't exploded." Edward did not know what kind of response to expect from his father, but it certainly was not the one he got.

"You're not the only one, Edward, to think along those lines. There are scientists in this world as well seeking to disprove the laws of conservation. You may do well to speak to them, you would offer each other unique insights." His father raised his eyebrows at him.

Edward looked down at himself and scoffed. "I can't exactly go anywhere, old man," he said in response.

Hohenheim set the mug of now-cooling tea on the nightstand. "Give it time," he said evenly. "Learn what you can. You'll find the science of this world is fascinating."

_Rizembool_

Winry pushed her goggles up on her forehead and switched off her drill, sure that beneath the noise she was creating in the workshop she had heard a pounding. Izumi and Al were in the yard sparring, or rather, Izumi was watching Al spar with himself, and Roze had been talking to Granny out on the porch.

Now she could hear her grandmother's voice in low conversation with several men. Who was out there? It couldn't be customers, or they would have come to the workshop. Not bothering to re fasten her jumpsuit, which she had tied immodestly around her waist, Winry hurried through the house to the font door.

Military. A quick glance told her they were no one familiar. _They have news about Ed!_ was her first thought.

"Good afternoon, Miss Rockbell," the taller one said when he saw her in the doorway.

Pinako was scowling at them. "She'll tell you nothing different than I have," she told them. "He isn't here."

_They were looking for Ed. _She looked at the two men in blue, not saying anything.

"Let her speak for herself," the same one said.

Winry shook her head. "If you're looking for Edward, he's not here," she said bluntly. "I wish he was. And if you see him, tell him to come home immediately." She pounded her wrench into her palm as she spoke. Oh, if only it were that simple! _Tell him to come home,_ and he would appear.

"Winry!" came a voice from inside. "Where are you?"

She turned back towards the house. "I'm out here, Al," she called, and within seconds he was by her side.

The second officer cleared his throat. "There is a major investigation underway on the assassination of the fuhrer," he began. "It is imperative that we locate the Fullmetal Alchemist. We believe that he alone can answer some very pressing questions. This isn't an arrest, by any means. We just need to talk to him. He doesn't even need to accompany us to Central."

"I would also like to speak to him and ask him questions," Al spoke up. "but he isn't here. I'm sorry."

"Who exactly are you?" the officer inquired.

"Alphonse Elric."

The two men exchanged glances. "Wasn't Alphonse the taller one?"

Al giggled. "I used to wear armor," he said, feeling like he was telling a story. "But it, ah, got destroyed."

"I see. Alphonse, tell your brother that every military officer who served under Brigadier General Mustang is ordered to report for questioning concerning the rebellion as well as the Furher's assassination. Make sure he understands that whatever he and his fellow officers may have done, the government understands that they were only acting on orders. No charges are being filed against Mustang's subordinates. We are merely trying to gather the facts."

Alphonse listened carefully, having no idea what the officer was talking about, but knowing perfectly well that neither man believed that Edward was not there. He nodded politely. "If I find him, sir, I will tell him those things," he agreed. When they left, he turned to Winry. "Was I supposed to know them?" he asked. He was slowly getting used to always feeling out of the loop about everything.

She shook her head. "I don't think so," she said.

He looked up at her quizzically. "Do you know what they were talking about?"

"Not really," she admitted. "Roy Mustang was Ed's commanding officer, we told you that, right?"

Al nodded. "He didn't like him," he said.

Winry shrugged. "They had an odd relationship," she corrected. "And you know all the rumors about the rebellion and the assassination and everything. I heard one radio report that said that he was responsible for the fire in the Fuhrer's mansion. I heard another one that he led the rebellion in the North. But Ed wasn't involved in any of that. You and he had your own business to deal with. Don't worry about it, its just military stuff." She opened the front door and went inside. "It doesn't concern us."

"Is it true that the military has a whole library for alchemists, and that there's a whole section about Human Transmutation?"

Winry whirled around. "Who told you that?" she demanded.

"Sensei," he said innocently. "And," he added, "State alchemists can access any of the files they want. And the government has been researching Human Transmutation, even though it's illegal, for years and years, and they must have tons of knowledge by now."

Winry crouched down in front of him and said seriously, "Al, you don't want to be a State Alchemist. You're just a child."

"I'm _not_ a child!" he insisted, stamping his foot in which he realized was a very childish manner. "I'm fifteen years old, even if my body is only ten!"

But how old is your mind? Winry wondered silently.

"Brother was a State Alchemist when he was twelve! No one tried to stop him! What if that library has information that Sensei doesn't know? That she can't teach me? What if the government already knows about the gate and how to take things from it? They've been at this research for a long time!"

Winry stood behind him and wrapped her arms around him. "We never wanted either of you to get mixed up with the military," she said softly. "But when Ed heard about the privileges State Alchemists had, it gave him something to work towards. It made him think his goal was possible. All he wanted, Al, was to get your body back, and he thought that was the way to do it."

"And all I want is to find Ed and bring him back! That's my goal! I'm not getting any closer to it by staying here!" As soon as he spoke he felt his friend stiffen, and he worked himself out of her grip and turned to face her. She looked like she had been smacked. "Winry?" he asked hesitantly. "What's wrong? What did I say?"

She looked away. "You always leave," she said quietly. "you brothers always leave. It's not that I don't want Ed back, Al. Its that I'm afraid to lose you too."

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly for a hug. "You're not going to lose me," he said into her shoulder. "I promise I'll always come back."

She couldn't trust it, his promise that she would never lose him. No one could make a promise like that and know they could keep it.

Yet he made it anyway. And he was the only Elric ever to do so.

_London_

_Ed- I am not coming home tonight. I will return tomorrow. Roze is coming over with a package for you. There are leftovers in the refrigerator. Don't get into any trouble._

_-Dad_

_PS we are joining the neighbors for tea tomorrow afternoon._

Ed tossed the note back onto the counter. Tea next door? Can't wait. A package? Sounds exciting. Leftovers, yum. Don't get into any trouble? Was that his father's attempt at a joke or something? Just how much trouble could he possibly get into without leaving the house? He turned his attention back to the stove and smirked. Maybe it was a warning not to catch his eggs on fire.

It was, just as he had insisted the day before, completely possible to fry an egg one handed. Dumping his eggs onto a plate, he leaned across the room and set the plate on the table, switched on the radio, put the frying pan in the sink, and sat down to eat. His balance, he decided, was finally improving.

The radio was all news about the war, and Edward listened intently to the reports as he munched on his eggs. If he was going to live in this world, he had to understand it. After a few minutes, as promised, there was a knock on the door, and he called, "It's unlocked, Roze."

She entered the apartment hesitantly, finding Ed in the kitchen.

"Eggs?" he offered her.

She laughed brightly, setting the package on the table. "It's the middle of the day, Ed. Isn't it a little late for breakfast?"

He shrugged. "I'm not exactly a master chef. Eggs are hard to mess up," he explained.

"No thanks," she declined, stepping over his crutch and taking a seat across from him at the table. She didn't look exactly like the Roze at home, he decided. Her eyes were brown rather than lavender and her hair was not pink, although he suspected that Roze-at-home's hair was not naturally two toned. But aside from being a different color, her eyes looked more… calm? Content? Edward frowned. It was her expression, he realized. This is what Roze-at-home would look like if she had not been through the horrors in Lior.

"Ed," she said gently, shaking him from his contemplation. "You're staring at me."

He flushed, looking down, "Sorry," he muttered. "It's just, you look so much like someone I know." For a distraction, he reached for the box and awkwardly tore at the wrapping. She had obviously picked it up from the post, because it was stamped and had Hohenheim's address scrawled across it. "What is it?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I'm as curious as you are. I never get mail either."

His eyes widened when he drew out the thick packs of paper. How did the old man get his hands on these? Or more accurately, how did he get them mailed to his house?

"Well?" Roze pressed.

Ed was already flipping through them. "They're scientific reports," he said vaguely. "Some stuff I've been interested in recently."

"Oh," she said, sounding disappointed. "A scientist like your father. I don't know much about science myself," she admitted. "I'm more of a religious type."

Ed set down the papers, a curious glint coming into his gold eyes. "Are you? That's interesting. What religion?"

Roze laughed, trying to dismiss his interest. "Oh come now, I don't want to get into an argument with a scientist," she protested. "I know you don't believe in the spiritual aspects of life. Nothing concrete, nothing provable, nothing for you," she said lightly.

He plopped his chin down on his hand. "Try me," he insisted. "I'm curious, and I don't know much about religion. Plus, I'm bored out of my mind sitting around the house." She still looked skeptical, so he added, "I won't argue with you, even if I think it's all nonsense."

Roze raised her eyebrows at him, her dark eyes sparkling. "Well that makes me feel much better," she said with another laugh. She sat back in the chair, thinking for a moment. "Well," she began, "Its not so much a religion, like what you have here, but more a sense of spirituality."

"Here as opposed to where?" Edward interrupted.

"My home," she clarified.

"And where's that," he pressed.

"Far away," she said vaguely. "Not Europe."

Edward nodded in acceptance. "Okay. Do you believe in God?"

She frowned. "Not in the way that you do-"

"I'm a scientist, I'm an atheist," he reminded her.

Roze pressed her lips together, thinking of an easy explanation. "I guess you could say, we could all be gods. We all seek perfection, and purity, and rightness, and when we reach it, we become god like."

Ed smirked. "And does this happen often?"

"Not that I'm aware of," she admitted good naturedly. "Humans are very rarely able to achieve perfection."

"Well so far I have nothing to argue with you about, Roze. I see nothing wrong with striving for perfection. So," he continued, coming to his real question, "in your spiritual religion, what happens when you die?"

"The soul is immortal," she said immediately. "That mysterious element that makes you who you are will never disappear. It merely becomes something else, maybe a new life, a blade of grass, an animal, part of the air. We are all part of the world." Then she laughed. "This must sound ridiculous to you."

Ed shook his head firmly. "No, actually it doesn't," he insisted. "So we're all part of this world, and that little bit of energy called the soul circulates around in different forms until we achieve perfection and become god like," he repeated. "So where are the god like beings? Somewhere in the world?"

Roze frowned. "In the world, yes. Maybe not on the earth. The world is made of many realities." She found his intent gaze slightly unnerving. "This is where it gets into mythology a bit, Ed. I'm sure you can scientifically disprove it in a heartbeat."

"No go ahead."

"Once man gains a perfect understanding of the universe," she began, as if reciting something she had been told many times before, "his soul leaves this plane of existence, and passes into the realm of Shambhala, where the laws of this world don't apply. But they also say that the boundries between the worlds are blurred, and that there is a specific place where the gates of Shambhala exist, although they are impossible to find for anyone who doesn't belong there."

"And what do you have to do to belong there?"

She sighed. "Achieve perfection, I guess."

Images were flashing through his brain faster than he could even process them. Chemical equations, cellular structures, alchemic arrays, a man with a mustache addressing a crowd, a white cloud shaped like a mushroom… "Perfection," he asked slowly, "Or a perfect understanding?"

Roze shrugged. "Is there a difference?"

_Rizembool_

Roze irritated her. She felt cruel admitting it, but it was true. Everything about the woman rubbed her the wrong way. She was so feminine and correct, in every way that Winry herself was not, that she always felt that she was being looked down on. Of course, Roze had been through terrible things, and deserved everyone's sympathy. And so, when Roze helped Pinako in the kitchen, because her cooking, unlike Winry's, was excellent, Winry was nice. When Roze talked about her dead boyfriend, for whom she named her son, Winry was nice. When Roze talked about how much Edward had meant to her, how much he had taught her, and how much he had done for her, Winry was especially nice. When she had over heard Roze talking to Al, however, she simply walked out the door and onto the porch, because she could not be nice.

_Your brother said to me, you have your own legs, stand and walk forward, and so I did. That's what you boys were doing. You never looked back, you were always moving towards your goal. And Edward helped me to realize that I had to keep walking forward, just like he was._

And who gave him that leg to walk forward with? she thought angrily. Only to have him walk away and never come back?

The early evening breeze played at her hair and she stared out at the vast expanse that was Rizembool. What she was feeling wasn't right, she told herself. Edward had helped Roze because he was a good person, just like the stories claimed. The alchemist who helped the people. And Edward had left because he wanted to return his brother's body, to reverse the consequences of his sins. And now Alphonse was going to leave too, to reverse… what? Edward's sacrifice?

Winry shook her head. It was all some kind of alchemical theory that she didn't understand, nor did she really want to. Alchemy had not been good to her. It had taken her parents away when she was just a little girl, and it had destroyed the lives of her two best friends. How she wished she could turn back the clock and change everything, how she wished the three of them could have grown up normally, happily, together.

But, she thought, everyone wished for something like that, everyone wanted to change something, to take something back. It was only the Elric brothers who thought they actually _could._

When she daydreamed, she dreamed that she saw him, Edward, making his way up the path that she stared at now. She dreamed of a tearful reunion, of the three of them together again, where they belonged, and doing just what he said, walking forward and leaving the past behind.

"I'm thinking about him too," said a voice, and she jumped.

Catching her bearings, she said, "You startled me, Al."

"Sorry," he said, distracted, staring out from the porch exactly like she had been. How long had he been there? "If brother came back somehow, like those military people think he did," he started, "Would I recognize him?"

"Of course," she said without thinking. "Of course you would, Al. We showed you the pictures, remember?"

He sighed. "I know. But I just cant picture him old like you are." He moved closer to her, leaning against the railing. "Do you want me to tell you a story?"

She looked down at his face in the faint light from the house. His large grey eyes looked up at her sincerely. "Hm?"

"Everyone's been telling me stories about things that I've forgotten. There's so many, but I remember them all. I'm trying to put them in order in my head. Don't you get tired of telling me things that already happened?"

"No, of course not."

"Do you remember when we built a fort in my back yard? It was less than a year ago for me."

Winry thought back. "I remember building forts with the picnic blankets in _my _yard," she offered.

Al shook his head, and smiled. "This was the box fort. Auntie Pinako ordered something really big in the mail, and let us have the box."

"Oh the _box!"_ she exclaimed, remembering. "We used that box all winter for sledding."

Alphonse beamed. "Yep, and all three of us could fit in it. But before it was a sled-"

"It was a fort," she finished triumphantly. "With a red flag"

Alphonse snickered. "But originally, it had been a no-girls-allowed fort. Ed and I ran off with the box as soon as Auntie said we could have it, and we told you we were going to the river, but really we were just in our back yard. And we propped it up on sticks and stuck the flaps out so they were like little roofs over our fort-porch. But then without you, we got really bored, and we just sat around and waited for you to figure out where we were so we could try to keep you out of our fort."

Winry laughed. "That didn't last long."

Al rubbed his head in memory of a good whack with a wrench. "No," he said, laughing. "It didn't."

"I had completely forgotten about the box, Al," Winry admitted.

"I figured you would have. That was a long time ago, wasn't it?" He paused for a minute, then continued, his voice wavering a bit. "We had this idea that since we were in the fort, and it was a secret fort, that no one would be able to find us. And mom played along, walking around the yard pretending to look for us, calling our names, looking in the silliest places until we finally burst out of the box, knocking the whole thing apart."

Winry threw her arm around his shoulders. "That was a good story, Alphonse. Thank you."

The silence of the evening was interrupted by the sound of Roze's son crying from inside the house, and Winry rolled her eyes. Roze couldn't share these stories with them, she thought with satisfaction. And these were the stories Al could remember.

_London_

It was the first time Edward had been outside his father's apartment since his arrival from the hospital, which he barely remembered. He tugged his vest down and ran a hand through his bangs and down the length of his ponytail, hoping he looked moderately presentable.

A little girl, no older than five or six, answered the door. "Mommy!" she called, "Mommy, they're here!"

A woman appeared behind her, laughing as she said, "Let them come in then, Rachel, don't just stand there in the doorway!" Shooing her daughter out of the way, she motioned for Hohenheim and Edward to come in. Ed saw that the apartment was a mirror of his father's in construction, but furnished much nicer. "Edward, I'm Madeline Wallace, its nice to finally meet you. Your father talks about you all the time," the woman said with a smile.

Edward glanced at his father. "Does he?" was all he said.

"This is my daughter Rachel," she said, indicating the little girl who was now hiding behind her leg.

"How do you do, Rachel," Ed said, trying to peer around her mother to catch the little girl's eyes.

"Hello Edward my name is Rachel and I'm not going to say anything about your arm and your leg!" she said proudly, stepping away from Mrs. Wallace.

"Oh!" her mother said in surprise, glancing at Edward apologetically.

Edward smirked, leaning against his crutch. "That sounds good, I'm not going to say anything either," he told the little girl.

Her mother was visibly relieved. "I just put the kettle on," Mrs. Wallace said to her guests. "Please have a seat, I have a tray set out already."

"Madeline, you didn't have to do all this," Hohenheim protested as he took a seat on the couch. Edward followed after him, settling his crutch on the floor.

"Oh, of course I did," she said from the kitchen. "You've been such a big help, what with the boys away and all, it's the least I could do."

Edward was eyeing the tray of tiny sandwiches and cookies.

"I helped make these," Rachel informed him. She carefully selected a cookie and climbed into the big armchair to nibble on it.

Mrs. Wallace returned with the teapot and filled three cups, turning to her daughter. "Rachel, honey, are you having tea?"

The little girl shook her head. "Yuck!" she said, her attention all on the cookie.

Edward laughed, causing his father to raise his eyebrows. "I didn't like tea when I was little either, remember?" he said.

Hohenheim's brow creased, trying to recall but falling short. He had spent so few years with Ed when he was a child… Ed, however, didn't seem to notice. He watched his son spooning sugar into his tea and stirring the steaming liquid. Edward's mood seemed to have lifted considerably, and he didn't want to say anything that might change that.

Ed looked around the room, taking in the photographs on the wall. Madeline Wallace was in all of them, with two smiling boys and a handsome smiling man. Her husband and sons, he guessed, although there was no sign of them here. Were they all fighting in the war? Was this what was going on at home, too?

Colonel Mustang had been supposedly leading a rebellion, what had ever come of that? Had Roy defeated Pride, was the Homunculus finally exposed to the rest of the government and removed from power, or had Pride defeated Roy? His country had been on the verge of an internal war, after not having really recovered from the previous one. War was everywhere, it seemed. In every world. There really was no escaping it.

"Edward, Edward, Edward, Edward!" The voice brought him back to reality. Rachel was jumping up and down in front of him, calling his name, how could he have spaced out like that?

"Huh?" he said unintelligently.

"Play with me!" she demanded, her round eyes bright in her childish face.

"Rachel," her mother said sternly. "Don't bother Edward, let him finish his tea."

"Ah, its okay," he assured her, looking at his empty tea cup. "What do you want to play?"

"Jacks!" she announced. "I just got new jacks, and a new ball-"

"And jacks is an outside game," Mrs. Wallace reminded her. "I don't want your new ball bouncing all around my living room. Remember what happened last time?"

"Then we'll go outside!" she said brightly, tugging at Edward's hand.

Mrs. Wallace turned to Edward. "You don't have to if you don't want to," she assured him.

Edward was already picking up his crutch. "That's okay, I happen to be very good at jacks," he told Rachel. "So just so you know, I am going to win," he warned.

She giggled, opening the front door. "No you're not, they're _my_ jacks, you can't win with _my _jacks..."

"Close the door," her mother reminded her. She turned to Hohenheim, who sat with a very bemused expression on his face. He didn't remember his son ever playing jacks as a child. Of course, he probably played with them after he had left them. He did, however, remember on several occasions how Sarah's daughter Winry would accuse Edward of cheating at cards. The corners of his lips began to turn up in a smile.

"Your son seems to be doing quite well," she commented, contradicting all that she had previously been told.

Hohenheim gazed at her over the tops of his glasses. "Its not always like this, believe me."

Edward had never played jacks left handed, but it had also been going on ten years since he played jacks at all and being that he was the older of the two, he figured he still had the advantage. Now, sitting on the front steps with Rachel, he decided he could at least enjoy the fresh air, because the little girl seemed to forget that he was playing too. After failing to catch up the required number of jacks, she had been giving herself second and third chances, he guessed hoping that he wouldn't notice or something. It was very cute.

He looked up and saw Roze walking up the street with a bag of groceries and waved. "Hello, spiritualist," he greeted her seriously.

She nodded in acknowledgement as she made her way up the steps. "Good afternoon, scientist," she answered, equally serious, and then let herself smile.

"Wanna play jacks with us?" he offered.

Roze laughed, shaking her head as she stepped over them to enter the building. "Ed, jacks is a kid's game."

"I'm a kid!" Rachel piped up. "Oh, Ed, I think its your turn," she added, handing him the ball.

He expertly bounced the ball and caught the jack, then turned and looked at Roze through narrow eyes. "Are you saying I'm kid-sized?" he demanded. She laughed again and sat down on the top step, setting her paper bag down next to her.

"That's not what I said at all!" she protested.

Bouncing the ball again, he did not look up from the game. "Doesn't matter," he said intently. "I'm going to win."

"No you're not!" Rachel insisted.

"Oops, your turn again," he said, handing her back the ball and watching her re-scatter the little metal pieces. Suddenly her ball went bouncing into the road.

"I'll get it!" she shrieked, and Ed reached out and grabbed her around the waist.

"Hey, don't just run out into the street like that!" he admonished her.

"Sorry!" she squeaked.

"You gotta look before you do that, okay?" he said sternly.

"O-kay, Ed-o," she said, elaborately looking both ways before running to fetch her rubber ball.

Roze watched her fondly. "I always wanted to have a lot of brothers and sisters," she said dreamily.

"Are you an only child?" Ed asked curiously, and Roze nodded. "Is she?" he asked then, meaning Rachel.

"Her brothers are away fighting," she said, still with a faraway voice.

"Where's her father?"

Roze shrugged. "He left them, I think, before we moved here."

Ed wanted to ask who "we" meant, but before he could say anything, Roze was standing up, telling him good afternoon, and she enjoyed their talk.

"Hey, you don't get another turn," he said to Rachel. "You let the ball get away, that means its my turn."

"Nuh uh," she informed him. "they're _my_ jacks, so we play _my_ way!"

Ed laughed, but agreed to these new rules. "Whatever you say. I'm still going to win."

_Rizembool_

Winry and Al still leaned side by side on the porch railing, staring out over the darkness that had settled in for the night. Izumi and Pinako and Roze had all gone to bed. Neither had said anything for hours, they merely stood there, side by side, each deep in their own thoughts.

"If you really don't want me to go," Al said finally, "I wont."

Winry glanced down at him. "Do what you need to do to move forward," she said softly, ruffling his hair.

_To be continued…_

_Next week: Chapter Six- Following After_


	6. Following After

**Mirage**

**Chapter Six – Following After**

Alphonse, 10; Edward, 17

_London 1916_

Ed was devouring a new pile of books, meticulously filling his notebook with chemical equations. Chemistry, he realized, was fundamentally tied to mathematics, something he had never really studied in detail since he had never actually gone to school. But he would get it eventually, he was sure.

Entirely engrossed in what he was doing, it was several minutes before he became aware of his father standing behind him, watching him work. He jumped.

"What are you doing in my room?" he demanded, staring up at the man.

"I was just visiting with Madeline," he began.

"Oh really?" Ed said snidely. "Charming her with stories from your childhood I assume?"

Hohenheim decided not to pursue that accusation, and instead delivered the message he was asked to relay. "Rachel wants to know if you would like to play with her today."

Ed turned back to his notebook. "I'm busy," he informed the man.

"You're going to strain your eyes if you keep staring at those books every hour of the day. Take a break," his father pressed.

"My eyes are fine," he muttered.

Trying a different angle, the man continued, "Its not good for you to stay inside all day," he told his son.

"I went to the library yesterday," Ed said in a monotone.

"Rachel said you owe her a game of jacks."

Still not looking up, he responded, "I do?" He thought for a moment. "oh yeah, I definitely do," he admitted.

"She says she hasn't seen you in weeks."

Ed nodded. "She hasn't," he agreed. "I've been busy."

His father looked at him pointedly. "Shall I tell her that?"

Ed sighed, closing his notebook and carefully marking his place in the various textbooks he had spread out and stood up. "No," he said finally. "I guess I can take a little break."

A few minutes later he was knocking on the door across the hall, which swung open to reveal a little girl with large blue eyes and a drooping pink ribbon in her hair. "Hi Ed!" she squealed, looking him up and down. "Wow, you can walk!"

He cracked a smile at her, allowing himself to relax a little. Maybe he had been spending too much time with his books. "Yeah, kind of, anyway," he said, catching her around the waist and picking her up one-handed, before they both toppled into the couch. "Oof, you're getting big."

She scrambled off of him and onto the floor. "Cause I drink my milk!" she explained.

Ed groaned. He could feel it coming.

"Maybe if _you_ would drink_ your_ milk, you could get big too!" she suggested helpfully.

"Hey, I'm bigger than you are," he said in self defense.

"But you're a grown up! And for a grown up, you're-"

"Don't say it," Ed warned her, trying to keep a dark expression, although the little girl was already amusing him.

"You're really small!" she shrieked, giggling as she watched him clutch his forehead.

"ARGH!" he cried. "Who are you calling super ultra miniature bean-sized?" he demanded, trying to look angrier than he really was.

"You!" she said between giggles.

"Rachel!" her mother called from the other room. "Be nice to your guest!"

Rachel folded herself up neatly in the corner of the couch, and turned her shining blue eyes on Ed. "So," she said hopefully, "if you can walk, that means you can take me to the park, right?"

"I guess," he admitted reluctantly.

"Mommy is too busy to take me and I'm not old enough to go by myself," she explained.

Mrs. Wallace appeared in the doorway. "And your father thinks it would be good for you to get some fresh air," she said pleasantly.

Ed scowled. "So he's been talking about me then?" he snapped angrily. "I got some fresh air yesterday. If he had been home, he would have known that." He tried to force a smile through the glare he knew was plastered across his face, and succeeded with an odd grimace. "Okay, lets go to the park. I suddenly feel the need to get far away from here."

"Okay!" the little girl declared, bouncing to her feet. "Get up, Ed, lets go!"

"Be home before dark, " her mother warned.

Rachel skipped along side him as they walked towards the park. "I'm so glad you're coming with me," she chattered happily. "Now I'll have someone to play with."

Ed glanced at her. "What about the other kids?" he inquired.

She frowned. "They don't like me," she said shortly. "They only play with each other." After a moment she regained her cheerful tone. "Did you play in the park a lot when you were a kid?"

He rubbed the back of his head. "Ah, I lived out in the country when I was a kid. There were no parks because it was all open space and farmland." He looked around at the dreary city. Even when the sun was shining, like it was today, everything looked grey. "But yeah, I played outside a lot. I didn't even know cities this huge existed."

"I used to live in a big house," she chirped, "with a really big yard, like a park."

Ed nodded, his eyes far away. "Yeah we had a big yard too. Our house was small, but that's okay, it was enough for us." It had been him, Al, and Mama against the world, since his father left. That was how Ed saw it, anyway. They could make it on their own. If Hohenheim didn't need them, then they very well didn't need him.

But they had needed him. Mama needed him, but he didn't come, and she died. _Of a broken heart,_ Ed thought angrily. Mom died of a broken heart. And Hohenheim had left his sons alone to follow in his footsteps.

"Are you mad?"

Her voice startled him. "Huh?"

"You look angry."

He was angry. _See where my mind goes when its not buried in chemical equations,_ he thought fiercely. "I am angry," he admitted.

"Ed," she said insistently, tugging at his hand, "The park is this way, come on."

"Sorry," he said roughly, turning the corner with her. His leg was starting to bother him, but he tried to ignore it. If he could walk all the way to the library yesterday, he could certainly get to the park without trouble.

"Don't be angry," the little girl instructed seriously. "Mommy says its bad for you."

"I'm sure it is," he said grimly. He wished suddenly to finish the walk in silence, but Rachel continued to talk, her voice piercing his thoughts.

"Mommy says you're too angry, and it makes your daddy sad."

Edward stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, unsure how to respond. "When did she say that?"

"I always hear them talking about you," she said innocently.

He narrowed his eyes. "Rachel, do me a favor. Next time you hear my father talking about me, kindly remind him that _I wish he wouldn't._"

She looked off to the side. "But," she protested, "then they would know I was listening!"

Ed smirked. "Then throw something at him, and pretend like it fell from the ceiling," he said jokingly.

She giggled. "That doesn't work!" she shrieked. "I bet you never got away with anything!" She skipped ahead of him. "Come _on,_ Ed, the park's over here!"

_Central 1915_

Alphonse felt like he had never seen such a huge city before. He knew that he had been there during what he was starting to call his "lost years," and that he had woken up there after the transmutation, but he remembered nothing from either occasion.

"Alphonse!" Izumi said sharply, grabbing his hand and pulling him across the street. "Wait until you're out of the street to stare up at the buildings!" she snapped, exasperated.

"Sorry, Sensei," he said meekly, hurrying to catch up with her brisk pace. "What do you think is on the test?" he asked eagerly. "Do you think that the written part is going to include drawing arrays, or do you think that part will be separate? Do you think-"

"I don't know," she interrupted. "I never took the test. I have no interest in joining the military." She turned her narrow eyes on him, glancing down at the young boy as they walked quickly through the crowded city. "You realize that they wont let you take the test," she said, not for the first time. "You're only ten years old."

"Fourteen," Al corrected cheerfully. "And I have the birth certificate to prove it."

She shook her head. "That's still four years away from eighteen. The military may be desperate but they aren't recruiting children- yet. The only way they'll let you take the test is if you tell them who you are. And once you do-"

"I know, I know," Al said. "The worms, the can, I know. There will be questions."

"Questions you can't answer. They're going to think you're lying. It's not just my dislike for the military that doesn't want you to do this, Al."

"But they know me!" Al protested. "I was with brother the whole time he worked for them. That has to count for something!"

Izumi shook her head again. "The military is a big institution. Not everyone knew you. Not everyone knew Ed. In fact, from what I understand, everyone who knew Ed has been suspended indefinitely from duty. That's what those men who came to Rizembool seemed to be saying. Otherwise, when you and Ed never returned to Central, don't you think they would have come looking for you themselves?"

Al was silent as they walked side by side through the market place. He was thinking hard about all the alchemy he had studied in preparation for the test, and did not hear the faraway voice calling to them. Izumi stopped, and a few paces later, Alphonse stopped also. He looked up to see a blonde haired, brown eyed woman staring at him. "Alphonse?" she asked, disbelief clear.

His mind panicked briefly. How many times would this happen to him? This woman recognized him, and he had no idea who she was. He looked up towards Izumi, who nodded in greeting. "This is Alphonse," she affirmed.

The blonde woman crouched down to eye level. "You…" she breathed. "What happened?"

"Ah," he began hesitantly. "It's a long story…"

"Where's Edward?" she asked next. How many times would he hear that question, he wondered.

"I'm looking for him," was the response he settled on.

The woman looked from him to Izumi and back. "So he really is missing," she sighed. "Not just hiding until things die down."

Izumi nodded. "Only Alphonse returned," she said, and the woman gasped, a hand coming up to cover her pretty mouth.

"I can't do this!" Alphonse exploded, looking at his feet. "I'm sorry, miss, but, who are you?" The shocked expression on her face matched his own. He couldn't believe what he said. He had never been so rude in addressing anyone, ever. "Sorry," he whispered, his cheeks beginning to flush.

"It's Hawkeye," the woman said gently, still crouched at eye level with him.

He searched her appearance for some kind of clue, but there was none. She wore a nice white blouse, a green scarf, a black skirt, and had pretty, flowing blonde hair. She was holding a bag of groceries. "I'm sorry," Alphonse said again. "I don't remember you."

She stood, addressing Izumi this time. Her tone was not accusatory, merely concerned, and surprised. "Mrs. Curtis," she began. "What's going on?"

"Alphonse would like to become a State Alchemist," she said cryptically. "Perhaps you better than I can explain to him why this is not the best time to join the military, and it is not the best move for him to simply waltz in and reveal his identity. _Especially since he can't remember anything."_

The woman blinked, processing the information. Finally she spoke. "I'm on indefinite leave," she said to Alphonse. "So is everyone you and your brother worked with. And we're preparing for war. You may not find the military a friendly place. They're desperate to keep this country from falling apart. I can't say they wouldn't hesitate to use you as a weapon, Alphonse." She looked from Al to Izumi and back to Al again. She didn't want to ask the boy what he did and didn't remember, she didn't want to ask about what had happened to Edward. She didn't want to ask how he had been restored. She simply accepted that he was there. "Seeing you alive, Al, has been the only good thing that's happened in this city since the Furher's assassination," she began. "You don't remember me… do you remember the Brigadier General Mustang?"

Alphonse shook his head, but answered, "Brother's commanding officer. He picked on him for being short. He's the one who told him to become a State Alchemist. And he let us search for the Philosopher's Stone between missions."

_Like he's reciting a story he's been told, _she realized. _He really doesn't remember._ But he is alive. At least there is that. "He was injured," she said slowly. "He's still recovering. If you would visit him- I'm going there now, actually- if he could just see that _something_ good has come of all this-"

But Al was shaking his head. He didn't really understand what she was saying, but one thing was certain. He and Edward had evidently meant something to this woman, and to the Brigadier General. And they meant nothing to him. "I can't," he said softly. "It's too cruel."

"Cruel?" the woman echoed, and Al nodded.

"I don't remember you." He had been trying to prepare himself for this sort of thing, but it did not compare to what he felt when it actually happened. This was someone who knew him, knew him well and cared about him, and she was no one to him. Her existence in his life had been wiped clear away with the rest of his memories. It wouldn't brighten an injured man's day to learn that of the two brothers he cared about and protected, one was gone and the other didn't even know him. Of this he was certain.

"But you're alive," she said firmly.

And alone, Al thought sadly.

_Enter Gluttony_

The town of Yunberg was simply not there anymore. Or rather, the buildings were there, but the people were all gone. They had been eaten. One by one, he consumed them, and they became a part of his permanent stomach. "Lust, oh Lust," he called, but Lust was not coming back. Then he moved on to the slightly larger town of Burrwell. Gone too, into his stomach. Even though there was a rebellion in the North, and a riot in Central, eventually the government sent someone to investigate the disappearances. He ate them too. Nothing would ever be enough, he thought. He would always be hungry.

Into his stomach went the town of Brisbool, and then the small city of Effton. The western part of the country was just holding their breath, waiting for the plague, or the bandits, or the alchemists, or whatever was causing the disappearances, to get to them next. "Lust?" Out in the country there was a big house, and he ate the mother and father, and the little girl, and the old man, but somewhere in the house, he thought there was still flesh. Just a very small amount, maybe even a baby, but babies were tasty too. "Lust?"

When he found that bit of flesh, it was not a baby at all, it was something rotting and disgusting, not something he could eat. It was something he could feed. Gluttony had never fed anything before, he had never felt the urge to. But he had never come across a thing like this. A thing like him. Or, like what he had been, before She fed him the red stones.

And so he coughed up a bit of the Philosopher's Stone that still resided in his belly, and shoved it into the rotting, putrid, stinking mouth of the _thing_, and stood dumbly watching as it gnashed away at it, red juice dribbling down its sickening chin. "Lust? Oh, Lust?" he called, looking for someone to take control, to tell him what to do, to tell him what he was doing.

The thing was changing. The rotting flesh was smoothing out, becoming sound and whole. The hair grew in thick and shiny, and the shriveled eyes plumped out, beginning to see the world. Slowly, the creature crept out of the closet where it had been kept.

The thing was a young girl, with a pretty bow in her black hair, and a pretty dress to match. Her eyes were wide and violet, and she looked at him, the first creature she had ever seen. "What am I?" she asked then.

The fat homunculus threw back his head and cried, "Lust!"

_Central_

"Do you still want to do this?" Izumi asked as they watched Lieutenant Hawkeye walk away.

Alphonse nodded firmly. "I have to try," he insisted. "I have to do whatever it takes." They were silent as they walked the rest of the way to the military building.

Silent, that is, until panic broke out on the streets. Izumi and Alphonse pressed themselves against a wall as people rushed past them in alarm. She reached out and grabbed someone from the crowd and demanded, "What is going on?"

"Monsters," the person hissed, before breaking out of her grasp and following the rest of the crowd.

"Riots again," Izumi said through clenched teeth. "I knew this wasn't safe." She looked down at Alphonse, who was watching the crowd trample each other with widened eyes. Suddenly military personnel appeared through the crowd, rushing towards the very thing the crowd was fleeing, and Al shivered uncontrollably as an inhuman scream shook the air.

"What was that?" he whispered, frightened.

Before she could respond, some kind of _creature_ dropped off the rooftops above them, and Izumi jerked Alphonse into an ally where they ducked behind some boxes. "I don't know," she whispered back. "Stay close to me." They watched in disbelief as a second _creature_ tore through the streets, coming from the direction the crowd had run from, and Al flinched as gunshots rang out. One of the creatures dropped to the ground.

"Shoot to kill," came a booming voice. Al peered between the boxes at the blond man in the military uniform. "Surrender yourselves now," he said, was he addressing the animals? "or take your last breath." The voice sounded menacing, and wait, what kind of animal was it, exactly, that cowered in front of the man? It was bleeding, Alphonse could see, but it was alive.

"Chimeras," Izumi whispered. The second animal, the one who had not been injured, suddenly jumped into their ally, right over the boxes they were crouched behind.

"After it!" came the command.

The thing made ready to jump through the window of the building to their right, and Izumi whirled around, clapping her hands and pressing them to the bricks, and in the bright crackle of the reaction the window closed over and the creature slammed into the wall, then crashed to the ground. Unphased, it snarled at her and got to its feet, but Izumi had already clapped again, sending the ground beneath them rolling up, dumping the creature back out on the street in front of the blue coated men that had been pursuing it.

"What was that?"

"What happened?" came the shouts.

"Quick, shoot it, whatever happened!" someone ordered, and another shot rang out. The creature collapsed in a heap, the blood spreading beneath it, only five feet away from the other one.

Alphonse watched in horror as the creature that had first been injured, the one he thought had been killed, opened its animal mouth, revealing animal teeth, and said, in a nearly human voice, "Let them kill us." A chimera that could speak human words?

"Who are you?" someone was demanding of Izumi.

She stood with her arms folded. "What is going on here?" she demanded back.

"That is none of your concern!" the man barked back. "This is military business, do not interfere."

"I didn't interfere, I'm not the one who created these abominations!"

Now that they were still, Alphonse could see the mad gleam in their malformed eyes, the grotesque shapes of their mismatched bodies. He could pick out certain parts that might have been feline, parts that might have been avian… he swallowed hard. Could they be part _human?_

"They're dying," his voice croaked out, before he could stop himself.

The blond man turned his steel eyes on him. "Someone get that child out of here," he snapped.

"I want to die," came the ragged voice of the creature.

"They're bleeding to death," he said, struggling against the strong arms that were restraining him.

"Son," said the soldier, "they were never meant to be alive to begin with."

"But," he protested, "it _spoke. _Isn't it… _human?"_

"It was," the man said grimly. "Turn away, this is nothing a child should see."

But Alphonse could see. He was beginning to understand. His brain was feeding him information he didn't even know he had.

Some mad alchemist had fused these creatures together, and had done it poorly, and painfully. No wonder they wanted to die. Who would do a thing like that? he wondered angrily, even as his mind was spinning, tossing around ways it could have happened, alchemic formulas, arrays…

"Kill me," the creature said again, and Alphonse turned back to it.

"See?" said the soldier. "It doesn't want to live."

"Not like this," the thing coughed out. The other one had already stopped moving.

Izumi was reading Al's eyes, could see his mind working behind his horrified expression. "Alphonse," she warned. "Leave it alone. Let the military take care of their own mess." She reached over to grab him away from the soldier, but he slipped away, quick as lightening, and crouched down beside the creature, ignoring the guns that were aimed at it.

"What are you?" he whispered.

"Not human," the thing rasped as a massive shudder went through its tortured body.

"But you _were,"_ he pressed.

The creature closed its eyes, breathing heavily.

"Get him away from it," the blond man ordered.

"Alphonse!" Izumi said sharply, but she backed away at the sudden light that flared up. It was the light of a transmutation, but there had been no circle... what was he doing? She hadn't even seen him clap his hands…

The light was blinding, causing her to squint her eyes shut, and she felt a massive wind on her face and heard the thundering crack! of whatever it was Alphonse had done.

When the light had cleared, she blinked the spots from her eyes, rushing over to the boy. He stood, shocked, blinking, several feet away from the bodies.

_Bodies?_

It was a mountain lion. An eagle, she thought, or some kind of bird. And a man.

The soldier who had grabbed him let out a long, low whistle. "Son, what did you _do?_"

The blond man, who seemed to be in charge, snapped, "Get that man to a hospital." His blue clad subordinates scrambled to follow his orders. He approached Al and Izumi slowly. "Now, who exactly are the two of you?" he said, narrowing his cold eyes.

"I am Alphonse Elric," the boy said clearly. "And I want to be a State Alchemist. Sir."

_London_

"You are not going to Spain," his father said firmly. "You are not going to France, you are not going to Portugal. You are staying here."

"I wasn't asking you," Edward said coldly. "I was telling you. I am going to Barcelona, there is something I want to look into there."

"If you want to go to Barcelona, I'll take you there, later. There is a war on right now, and it is too dangerous to travel."

"I don't want to go to Barcelona with you!" he exploded. "How could you even _think _that?"

"How can you even _think_ about traveling?" the man responded. "You listen to the radio, you know what's going on with the war! It's dangerous!"

"I'll take my chances," Edward snapped. "You said you would do whatever you could to help me, so buy me the damn tickets!"

Hohenheim pulled his glasses off and pressed his palms into his eyes. Oh, how to quell this one? "Edward, you can hardly walk. You cant just off and-"

"I can walk just fine!" his son exploded. "I am fine today, I was fine yesterday, I was fine last week! Stop your stupid worrying!" He stomped out of the room. He was still getting used to the wooden leg, it was true. He couldn't run very well, and stairs were still a challenge. But he had no trouble at all perfecting an angry stomp. He slammed his bedroom door shut and flopped down on his bed, scowling.

Soon his father was cracking open his door and peering inside. "Edward, I worry about you because you're my son," he began.

Ed was silent, sitting on the bed, trying to suppress his anger at the man who had given him everything he could in this world. _You're part of this world now,_ the old man was so fond of saying. Because he could never make up for the things he had done in the world he belonged in.

"What about Al?" he said darkly, addressing the floor. "He's your son too, don't you care whether he's alive or not?"

Hohenheim sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "Of course I do," he said quietly. "But I, unlike you, can accept the fact that we may never know what happened to Alphonse."

"How can you accept that?" his son yelled, his voice echoing off the walls of the small room. He stood up. "I know how you can. The same way you thought it was acceptable to leave us and never come back!"

"But I did come back," the father protested.

"Yeah, six years to late!" Ed snapped. "She was dead by then, and Al was- Al was just a soul bound to some armor. But that's not even the worst thing you've done! I always thought it was, and I hated you for that, but now I know there's more!"

"Oh?" Hohenheim asked quietly.

"The first son you had, the first one you abandoned- Al and I were going to restore our bodies, we were finally going to right our wrongs, put everything back the way it should be-"

"Haven't you learned," his father said in the same quiet, even voice, "that there is no right and wrong?"

"You only say that because everything you do is evil!" Ed screamed. "I've been manipulated ever since I started studying alchemy, so that I could create the Philosopher's Stone for you and that bitch. And when we finally got it, I couldn't even use it because your homunculus of a son stabbed me in the chest!" He shuddered at the memory.

"Edward, keep your voice down, the neighbors can hear."

"I don't care if they can hear me across the street! You think you can just twist the world into whatever shape you want! You don't want to die from the plague, like everyone else was, so you find a way to cheat death. Who cares if that way takes millions of lives? Not a bastard like you!" He stomped across the room. "I'm disgusted with myself for even being related to you! You make me sick!"

"Edward…" his father warned, his golden eyes slowly becoming stormy.

He continued. "You're probably not even _human_ anymore, you're just a decaying bastard of a body and a decaying bastard of a soul! Every evil, wrong thing an alchemist can do, _you've done,_ and you don't even care! Because if you cared," he shouted, his eyes flashing, "you would have been there to make sure I didn't do them too!"

Hohenheim clasped his hands together with a loud smack, a useless gesture here, but one that made his son jump none the less. "Edward!" his strong voice rumbled through the house. "That is enough!"

"No! That is not enough! Nothing will ever be enough! You said yourself there is no Equivalent Trade! You said yourself there is no right and wrong! I hate you, I hate everything about you, and I hate being your son!" Edward shoved past his father, who was still standing in his doorway, and stormed out of the house.

Hohenheim stared painfully from the window at his son's angry, disjointed gait as he made his way down the sidewalk. He would come back eventually, he knew, and it was best not to go after him. It was best to just accept his son's hatred for him as the consequence for his past actions. It was best to let Edward work through it on his own. He would realize, eventually, that it didn't have to take forgiveness to more forward.

_He had no right to live a normal life, to marry, to have a family. He had done that once already, and life doesn't give second chances. Once things are set into action, they cannot be reversed. From the moment he believed that he could truly cheat death, that there was no cycle of life and death and rebirth that the world revolved around, that was the moment he should have known no part of his life could be normal. _

_He never meant to create a homunculus; he didn't even know what a homunculus was until he was faced with the creature that had the body of his son but not the soul. He promised his lover he would bring their son back, but in the end, it was his lover that brought him back. It was Hohenheim himself who created the Philosopher's Stone, but it was Dante who first used it to keep his soul in this world. _

_He had no right to think he could escape the mad life the embarked on, he and Dante, into the world of the forbidden, the alchemy of sinners. Civilizations rose and fell around them as together they broke every law in the universe. Years past, centuries past, they were not always together but they did not need to be. In lives as long as theirs, what did a few decades matter?_

_But it was less than even a year after meeting Trisha that they were married. Hohenheim had never married Dante, together they scorned the custom, as they scorned equally everything that humans created. For the two immortal beings were certainly no longer human. But there was humanity in the love he shared with Trisha, it was unlike anything he had experienced in his wild expanse of a life. His love for alchemy, his love for power, his love for self: these things became nothing in her wondrous presence._

_He had no right to wed this woman, to live with her as husband and wife, as humans did, to have children with her. She would never know the truth about him. He was a powerful, mysterious man, and perhaps she knew his soul as intimately as anyone ever would, but she would never know the truth of his life. When his body began to decay she accepted it only because she did not know the truth behind the truth he told her. _

_When he left his wife and his young sons, he told her he would return to her someday. He did not know he was looking his last on the only woman he had ever loved, on the house they made a home together in. He did not know that when he made good on his promise, Trisha would be gone, the house nothing but ruins, and his sons on a wild journey of their own that mirrored his own despicable path._

_He left because he had no right to a family. And now here he was, in this strange, dead world, living a life he had no right to, with a son who may have had his eyes but who's face was Trisha's, challenging fate as fiercely as he ever had._

"_Don't you know by now," Dante's harsh voice hissed through his memories; he could almost feel her breath on his skin, as if somewhere the moment still existed, "that there is no right and wrong? Those rules are for mere humans."_

"_I love you," Trisha's sweet voice drifted across the worlds. "Isn't that enough?"_

_Central_

"Alphonse Elric," the man repeated. "Brother of Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. Who, by the way, has not reported for duty in over four months and is wanted for questioning." His eyes traveled to Izumi. "And you are?"

"Izumi Curtis. Housewife," she said tightly.

"And I am General Darrel Isen, the Mercury Alchemist. How convenient for us to run into each other," he said smoothly. "Do you care to explain what you just did?"

"I- I'm not sure, sir," Al said honestly, glancing up at Izumi.

"What does it look like he did?" she snapped. "He separated the chimera."

"Which is impossible," the general retorted.

"Nothing is impossible," Al said swiftly. "There are only things that haven't been done yet." He felt his heart clench as he remembered, too late, who had last said that to him, and why.

General Isen eyed him with chilling interest. "The government," he said slowly, each word falling like a cube of ice, "is going to want to know where your brother is." He paused. "I, however, am more interested in you, Mr. Elric." He gestured to the military issue car that had arrived for him. "Please accompany me to headquarters." He nodded once to Izumi. "You as well."

"Can I take the State Alchemist Exam?" came the hopeful voice.

"No," the man said firmly. "You are too young. Your brother caused the military too many problems, and too many expenses, for such an exception to ever be made again. Things are different now that the military has given control to parliament. They would never approve such a thing. However, given your obvious genius, there is no reason why you couldn't be of use to the government in some other form. I have been looking for someone like you to take over certain work that has been left in my jurisdiction. It would be easy to transfer it from military to government territory."

Alphonse shook his head. "No," he said, earning a stare from both Izumi and the General.

"Excuse me?"

He shook his head again. "No. I want a State Alchemist Certification. I know I could pass the test."

The man gazed at him piercingly. "Of course you could, but I cannot authorize you to take the exam. It is no longer in my control. You can work for the government, doing alchemical research. You cannot be official military personnel. When you turn eighteen, then you can start your military career."

Alphonse stomped his foot in what he realized was a childish gesture. "But I want access to the State Alchemist Library, and to all the research on-" he stopped. "On all the things I'm interested in," he finished.

"Alphonse," the man said firmly, opening the car door for him. "Favors beget favors." Al wasn't sure, but he thought he saw the man wink as he climbed into the car. He thought of his icy stare. No, probably not, he decided. "The first favor I can offer you," the man continued, "and this one is for free, is the knowledge that you are not required to answer the military's questions. You are not military, so regardless of your relationship with your brother and his peers, you should not have had access to any top secret information. And all questions regarding his whereabouts are considered top secret. But I must warn you: if you _are_ hiding your brother, which I don't believe you are, and if criminal charges _are _brought against him, which I don't believe will happen, only then will you be involved."

"Why don't you believe I'm hiding my brother?" Alphonse asked curiously.

"If the Fullmetal Alchemist was hiding, wouldn't you be hiding with him?"

_London_

It could have been any city in Amestris, he thought dully. From what he had seen, it wasn't that different from the places he and Al had been. Except that he was there alone.

He was sitting on the steps of the city's public library, not the London University library he had been to so many times before. It was far, and he had never been there before, although he had an idea of where it was from studying a map. He didn't particularly want to go inside, in fact, he didn't even mean to end up there at all. It was just that he had nowhere else to go in this city. Like all cities, it had no open spaces, nowhere to go and just think. People were everywhere.

Alphonse might be telling him he shouldn't speak to father like that. They might even argue with each other about him like they had at home. They might sit, side by side, in silence, but eventually they would get up and start moving forward again.

Together. But Edward was alone. He looked up, thinking for a moment that he heard his brother's voice. His eyes scanned the street in front of him, then he sighed. It was his imagination.

No, it was Al's voice, only he couldn't seem to understand his words. He twisted around on the stairs. There was no mistaking it. He was several years older than when he had seen his body last, but the boy was Al. He was deep in conversation with the man next to him, and clutching a thin briefcase tightly against his chest. Their conversation was in a foreign language Edward did not recognize. As the two figures passed him on the stairs, Al locked eyes with him for the briefest of moments, but continued on, as if nothing had happened.

"Al?" Edward called after them, but they were swiftly moving away. It wasn't Al. Those eyes were blue.

_Central_

Alphonse looked down at the folded piece of paper nervously, confirming that the blue ink directions did in fact lead to this building. It was the address of one Brigadier General Roy Mustang. At headquarters, General Isen had mentioned that the man might appreciate a visit from Al, much as Lieutenant Hawkeye had. Alphonse frowned thinking of the blond haired, steel eyed man who had offered him a government position. In one way, he was relieved that he hadn't been asked any questions he couldn't answer. There had been a few, to be sure, but none that made his memory loss glaringly obvious. But it left him vaguely disturbed that the man didn't seem to _want_ to know more about him. It was almost as if the man thought Al would run off if asked to many questions, and he didn't want to risk that. Al was feeling, like he would often, as if he was swimming in the dark.

He rang the bell. Here's to darkness, he thought.

To his surprise it was Hawkeye, the woman he had met earlier, who answered the door. "Alphonse!" she said, clearly startled by his presence but quickly smoothing her expression and motioning for him to come inside. "I didn't expect you to come here, after our conversation earlier," she said, by way of explanation.

He looked up at her. "I didn't really expect you to be here either, ah, Lieutenant," he said shyly, wondering why this caused her to blush.

"He's sleeping right now. Come in, sit down," she said, gesturing to the plain table and chairs next to the kitchen, looking away until her face returned to its normal coloring. "Alphonse, it really feels like a miracle to see you like this," she began.

He took a seat across from her, folding his hands in his lap. "You only knew me as armor?" he asked hesitantly.

She nodded, still marveling at his restored body.

"And you knew brother."

She nodded again.

"I'm sorry I don't remember you," Al blurted out finally, after an awkward silence. "I didn't really want to come here, I didn't know what I could possibly talk to the Brigadier General about. I don't even know him. I thought I could just show up, show him I'm alive, and then…' he trailed off, unsure of what he wanted to say.

"Don't apologize," Hawkeye said firmly. She stood up. "Can I get you something to drink? I made a pitcher of iced tea this morning," she offered.

"Thank you," Alphonse said politely.

"Riza?" called a man's voice. "Is someone here?"

She set the pitcher on the counter and strode briskly to the bedroom.

"It's Alphonse Elric, sir," he heard her say.

"You don't have to call me sir, you know," said the voice through the thin walls. "We're only at home."

"Shall I tell him to come in here, si- ah, Roy?"

The rest of the exchange was in muffled tones that Al couldn't make out. After several minutes Hawkeye returned, nodding towards the door. "He's awake," she told him. "Go ahead and see him." When she saw him hesitate, she walked over and held the door open for him.

He slowly entered the room, telling himself he had no reason to be nervous.

Roy Mustang regarded him for several minutes in silence, fixing his single black eye on the boy who stood awkwardly at the edge of the room. "I always imagined," he said, his words seeming to echo in the quiet of the room, "that you would look more like Edward." He hoped the relief that he felt was not audible. He had been seized by an unreasonable fear that Al in the flesh would be like a ghost of the boy he had seen just minutes before they had each gone to meet their respective fates. Whatever those fates may yet turn out to be.

"Ah, everyone says I look like my mother, sir," Al said hesitantly. "Ed looks like dad."

The man nodded slowly.

Soon the uncomfortable silence became oppressive. "I want to be a State Alchemist," Alphonse blurted out awkwardly, and something flickered across the man's expression, but in an instant it was gone.

Roy nodded again. "You would be a great asset to the military," he said quietly, "if that is where you wish to be."

"Ed did it for me," Al said firmly, and the man smiled faintly. There was that Elric determination in him after all. "But," he added, "No one will let me take the exam. I've been at the military headquarters all afternoon."

Roy raised his eyebrows at the boy. "But you've already taken the written exam. You already were given permission from General Hakuro. Remind them of that," he directed.

"I did? I was?" Al asked, surprised. He didn't know that. No one had told him. But it was just one of many things he didn't know. "I guess you know about my memory," he said apologetically.

Roy's mouth twitched in something close to a smirk. "You scored a perfect mark. Even your brother couldn't do that. Perhaps you should remind them of that as well."

"Really? I did?" he repeated, his grey eyes holding a bit more light. He had scored better than Ed?

Roy nodded solemnly. "You and your brother did a lot of amazing things," he offered.

Alphonse cringed. He suddenly didn't want this to turn into story hour. He suddenly didn't want to hear about his and Ed's amazing stunts they pulled in the military, the good things they did, the fights they were in, their alchemy and how Ed could do it without a circle, and all the things they did while searching for the Philosopher's Stone. Such conversations always ended with Al collapsing in tears, missing Ed and aching unbearably inside. He couldn't let himself fall to pieces like that, not in front of a stranger.

Roy didn't know what had made Al's expression fall like that, but the tension in the air, that had been in the air ever since Al set foot in his house, was enough. "I want you to know," he said gently, "if you decide to join the military, and if the military decides that I am their ally rather than their enemy, that I am your ally as well. If there's anything you need, you can always come to me." He closed his eye; it was another one of those flash headaches, he realized grimly. "That is, you can come to me, when I'm doing a bit better than I am now."

Al grew concerned. "I'm sorry to have bothered you, sir," he said softly, uncertainly.

The man waved him away. "You didn't bother me," he assured the boy. "Riza was right to ask you to come. It is good to see that Edward succeeded." That we both succeeded halfway. And didn't two halves make a whole?

That must have been what the brothers believed all those years.

_London_

Rachel was sitting on the front steps of the apartment when Ed returned after several hours. He had walked back in a daze, not thinking, not noticing his surroundings, not even realizing he was home until he heard his name called from behind him. He was already opening the front door, having walked past the girl without even seeing her.

"Ed mommy told me to come in for tea, you could come too," she offered innocently, and he gratefully accepted, thankful for the reason to delay further his return to his father's apartment.

"Thanks," he said distantly. Once inside, he let himself fall back onto the couch and accepted the still empty cup she offered him.

"I'm having juice in my teacup," she informed him, taking a seat next to him.

Mrs. Wallace appeared in the living room. "Hello Edward," she said, trying to conceal her surprise.

"Ah, hello," he began. "Rachel invited me for tea," he explained.

The woman nodded, the black curls that framed her face bobbing with the movement. "Of course you're welcome any time," she said smoothly.

He studied the inside of his empty cup. "I don't actually feel like having any tea," he admitted. "I just don't want to go back in there."

"Is everything okay at your house, Edward?" she asked with polite concern. "I heard some yelling earlier."

Edward's hand returned to his forehead as he sank further into his neighbor's couch.

"Yeah, its fine, I just needed to cool my head, and the apartment's so small," he said apologetically.

"Does your father know you're here?"

"I don't know where else he thinks I could go," he said bitterly. He felt little hands at the back of his head. "Rachel, what are you doing?"

"Playing with your hair," came the matter of fact response. The little girl had climbed onto the back of the couch to sit behind him and was running her fingers through his ponytail.

"Well, please stop it," he said flatly.

"Why, its pretty," she protested, and suddenly he felt his hair spill out over his shoulders.

"Gah!" Edward cried, grabbing at his hair. "Why did you do that?"

"I don't know," she said, innocent enough.

"Are you happy now?" he asked darkly. He put the hair tie in one of her small hands. "Now you can put it back up."

She sat behind him swishing her hands through his hair for a few moments, but that was all.

"I mean it, Rachel. Put it back the way it was, I don't want it in my face all day." He turned around to face her, and saw that she didn't seem to fully grasp his instructions.

She handed the elastic back to him. "You do it," she said.

Edward pressed his lips together, his cheeks beginning to flush. "I can't," he said after a moment. "That's why I told you to leave it alone. Now please, put it back the way it was," he said with difficulty.

"Edward, may I?" Mrs. Wallace interjected.

He nodded once, shortly. "Yeah. Please," he added. She came over to sit by him, taking the tie from her daughter, who scrambled off the back of the couch and into the chair where her mother had been sitting. He stared at the wall while she ran her fingers quickly through his hair, securing it efficiently back into its regular ponytail and letting it drop onto his neck.

"There," she said, resting a hand on his shoulder for just a moment. Her mother's heart went out to him.

"Thank you," he said tightly.

"Rachel, why don't you go play in your room," she requested, suddenly serious.

"Yes mommy," the little girl replied, running off down the hall.

Mrs. Wallace stood up from the couch, moving to sit in the chair that faced Edward. "Would you like to talk about what happened earlier?" she asked gently.

"No," he answered sullenly. "I'm sure my dad's told you every horrible, obnoxious thing I've done since I've been here, so whatever I say I'll sound like a horrible, obnoxious son."

"He also told me that he abandoned you and your mother when you were very young, and that he's doing everything he can to make it up to you," she said softly.

Edward's eyes were like embers burning into her. "Did he tell you that she _died_ waiting for him to come home?" he asked bitterly. "There's nothing he can do for me now that will ever make up for everything he should have done before." Did he tell you that he destroyed entire nations to extend his pathetic life? Did he tell you that he created a homunculus out of his own son, and abandoned him as well? Did he tell you about how my brother and I could both be safe and whole and living happily at home if only he had been there for us when we needed him? "Did he tell you," he said quietly, "how he collects families? Did he tell you who he lived with before I came here? He found another Edward, and was taking care of him, like a son, as if he could just replace me, just like that!" Ed knew he wasn't being fair, but he continued anyway. "Who knows how many other families he's had through the years, finding people in need, telling them he'd always be there, and then _leaving_?"

"Oh, Edward, your father cant be that old," she protested.

"Don't you see?" he pressed. "He's doing it to you too. How much do you and Rachel care about him, how much do you depend on him? He's not going to stick around, Mrs. Wallace, I'm sorry, but he's completely incapable of finishing anything he starts!"

"You're talking about Edward Heiderich," she said slowly. "I remember him, he was killed when the Zeppelin crashed. That was several years ago, now. Edward, he was only your father's student, he wasn't another son. He wasn't a replacement for you."

"Yes he was," Edward said darkly, scuffing his shoe into her carpet. "We probably all were. You ask him how old he is," he said cryptically. "If he gives you an answer you can believe, then he's lying." He stood up unsteadily, grabbing the arm of the couch for support. "I'm sorry, you didn't need to hear any of this. And I'm sorry you could hear my yelling from across the hall. Next time we get in a fight, I'll try to be quieter," he said, although he couldn't imagine trying to be quiet when he was as enraged as he had been earlier. What had the fight been about again? Ah yes, Barcelona. "He only worries because he cares," he muttered. "Maybe I am obnoxious."

"You don't have to go home if you don't want to," Mrs. Wallace said kindly. "You're always welcome here, you know that."

Edward shook his head. "No, I'll just be in your way. But thank you."

She stood in front of him, gazing at him thoughtfully. "You look taller, you know, Edward."

He looked down at himself and shrugged. He knew he hadn't grown. "Its because I'm standing on two feet now," he said awkwardly, "Not leaning over a crutch."

"Of course it is," she said kindly. "And its wonderful to see you this way."

"Yeah," he agreed. "It feels pretty good too. Look, tell Rachel that I'm really sorry I yelled at her, and I promise I wont freak out like that again. And I'm sorry to bother you with all of this."

"You aren't a bother," she assured him. She watched his uneven gait as he made his way to her front door. "Your father is trying very hard," she tried one last time.

His hand was already on the doorknob, but he turned in response. "So am I," he assured her.

_Rush Valley_

Winry wiped the traces of machine oil from her hands by dragging them down the thighs of her jump suit, and hoisted herself up on the high windowsill of the workshop she was apprenticing in. When Alphonse had promised he would right, she knew he meant it at the time, but she hadn't truly expected any letters. Sighing happily, she carefully pulled the envelope open and began to read.

"Dear Winry,

I hope everything is going well for you in Rush Valley. I know you are completely obsessed with automail so I can't imagine anywhere you would be happier." She smiled. Alphonse always teased her so _politely._ She could just see his sweet smile. "I wish I could write you to say that I have become the youngest State Alchemist in history, next to brother, but I can't. I tried everything I could think of, but they won't let me take the test. They said having a child in the military is too much of a risk." She breathed a sigh of relief. "I wish it was different, but maybe it is better this way. In Central there is a lot of talk about there being a war in the North. Now they are saying that it wasn't a rebellion at all but an attack on our borders. I don't know what to believe any more. Everything is so overturned that maybe it is better that I don't get involved with the military. I'm sure you and Auntie are very happy to hear this." _That's for sure,_ she agreed. "Sensei certainly was. But I don't really know where to go from here. Part of me just wants to come home-" at this her face brightened "-but I can't give up so soon. Brother is somewhere, I just have to find him. I know you understand.

Love, Alphonse"

She folded the letter slowly, pressing it to her chest for a moment. Then she heard Dominique calling her from the font of the shop, and hopped off the windowsill and hurried to see what he needed.

_To be continued…_

_Next week: Chapter Seven- To Seem, To Be_


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